


Scream

by Shi_Toyu



Series: I Am Yours [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM Scene, Fluff and Smut, Get together fic, Jim Moriarty and Feelings, M/M, Oblivious Jim, Porn With Plot, Sexual Content, Shameless Smut, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Smut, Stalker Jim Moriarty, relationship fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:32:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 69,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2834921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shi_Toyu/pseuds/Shi_Toyu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Moriarty is the type who always gets what he wants...and he wants to hear John scream. Johniarty. First chapter JimXJohn Smut with serious plot in later chapters! Watch Jim and John as their relationship blossoms and develops. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll wonder why you even bothered to read this. Then the smut will happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scream for Me

Jim Moriarty was a man who knew what he wanted and didn't have any qualms about making sure he got it. Moreover, he was not used to anything being out of his reach. Then again, his game with Sherlock seemed to already break all the rules. The criminal consultant could feel the tug as his eyes were drawn back to the blonde doctor who was completely oblivious to being watched from across the bar.

Moriarty had chosen the pub on a whim and certainly hadn't expected to find Sherlock's pet already inside, laughing and swapping stories with the other patrons. Since the first time they had met, in the lab when he was pretending to be that silly girl's boyfriend (Mellony, or Marla, or something was her name), Jim had found himself drawn to the man in a way that he was unfamiliar and not in any way comfortable with.

Something about the doctor was just…hypnotic. He wanted to rid the man of those awful sweaters he always wore and see the body he kept hidden beneath. Not for the first time, Jim had to consciously stop himself from licking his lips as he watched the other man. He was just so captivating and Jim's normal control was practically nonexistent. He had hardly touched the drink he'd ordered upon his arrival over an hour ago but he felt his mind was clouded as though he'd been taking shots.

This was always the case whenever John Watson crossed his mind, and he seldom just crossed it. The man lingered and teased Jim even just in his imagination. A shudder ran down his spine and he felt his pants tighten as John gestured to illustrate his current story and the helm of his sweater tugged up, revealing a quick glance of his tanned stomach.

At first, when he'd started having these…urges, Moriarty refused to admit they were feelings because he simply didn't DO feelings, he'd tried to suppress them and when that didn't work he'd tried to turn his attentions somewhere else. Jim wasn't the virgin that Sherlock was. He had a healthy appetite for sex and participated in the activity quite regularly. Or at least he had until he'd been subjected to this damned fixation with Dr. John Hamish Watson. Now no one else seemed to cut it anymore.

It certainly didn't help that Jim had, at the pool, seen the subtle signs of John's own attraction. He'd taken keen notice of the way the other man's pupils dilated or the way his heart rate had picked up when the master mind invaded his personal space, and not with fear. Sure, the attraction was involuntary and the blonde likely had no desire to take action from it, but it made it all the harder to suppress his own urges.

So last in his own thoughts, Jim didn't even realize that he was being approached until someone sat heavily on the stool beside him. Looking up in surprise, he made eye contact with none other than the cause of all of his current problems.

"I would ask what you're doing here but I doubt you'd tell me. This better not be another kidnapping. I got enough of that last time, thanks."

The corner of Jim's lips quirked upwards in amusement. As usual, Sherlock's pet was full of the unexpected. John was right; there was no way he was going to admit he'd spent the last hour watching the blonde because he couldn't bear to turn away. To take the focus off himself, the criminal consultant quickly changed the subject.

"You certainly seemed to be having a good time. I sooo hate to disturb you."

John looked at him for a moment; Moriarty noted the signs of attraction once again, before sighing and turning back to his drink.

"I suppose that as long as you're here, you aren't out blowing something up or killing people."

Dark eyebrows rose almost to his hairline.

"You don't think I could do any of those things from here?"

"Quite the contrary. I know you could. I just don't think you would want to. Forgive me for the assumption, but I don't think this is really your usual scene."

Moriarty nodded in acknowledgement.

"Pubs are generally too loud and too crowded for my tastes, yes."

John smiled at him and the criminal mastermind felt something twist in his gut.

"But you're here tonight."

And there it was the thing that made John Watson so horribly irresistible. He was unpredictable to a fault and had the unique ability to corner people like Jim and Sherlock while never once seeming anything more than the average bloke. Jim felt a twitch downstairs and knew he wouldn't be making it through the night without relief.

And John Watson was going to provide it.

"I'll tell you why, if you'd like, why I'm here." A pause and Moriarty could tell he had John's full attention. "It's because of you. You…captivate me."

The blonde startled back a bit.

"W-what?"

Jim took a moment to savor the surprise on John's face…Delicious.

"You. Captivate. Me." His smile was smug. "Truly, I doubt you have any idea of the unique power you possess."

"Power? Me? What're you going on about?"

"Oh, yes. You're complete obliviousness is part of you charm. Indeed, you are quite the impressive one. Not only are you able to put up with the no doubt considerable irritations that come with living and working with Sherlock Holmes, you have managed with make him feel. True friendship is something that Sherlock never understood before you came along. So you were dragged into our little game. Honestly, I didn't expect you to last long. An ordinary bloke playing with myself and Holmes? But, as has proved to be the norm, you surprised me." His smirk grew into a full on grin. "I like surprises."

Oh, there are the pupils, blown so wide his irises almost disappeared. Encouraged, Jim leaned forward until their noses almost touched.

"Do you like surprises, Dr. Watson?"

JWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJM

John grunted as his back slammed into the wall. His shoulder twinged in protest but the ex-soldier couldn't bring himself to care with Jim's lips pressed against his own and the criminal's hands on his body. God, they were EVERYWHERE. A moan slipped from his mouth, only to be swallowed by his partner.

"Sherlock's going to kill me."

"Do me a favor?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't talk about Holmes when I'm kissing you."

"Oh? The jealous type? I should've known."

"Better idea. Just don't talk."

Their lips clashed again in a violent kiss, teeth clashing and tongues wrestling. Moriarty moved them backwards, further into the flat that doubled as one of his safe houses. He'd already sent the text that cleared all of his personnel from the area. He didn't need them seeing this. Besides, Dr. Watson made a very sound diagnosis. He WAS the jealous type and he'd hate to have to kill a perfectly good lackey because they'd caught a glimpse of HIS John.

It was a simple matter to maneuver them into the bedroom and push the doctor onto the bed. Jim took a moment to enjoy the sight of his interest sprawled on his sheets, hair a mess and face flushed. His cream sweater was askew and covered way too much. The mastermind growled before accosting his victim once more, seizing the helm of the offending article and yanking upwards, pulling it off in one fell swoop and tossing it aside.

"Getting impatient, are we?"

"What did I say about talking?"

"Oh, I don't know. I was a bit distracted at the time."

A growl ripped itself from Jim's throat.

"New plan. Next time you open your mouth, it'll be to scream."

He attacked John's neck with kisses and nips, worshipping the tan column and pulling a string of moans from the other man. His hand worked quickly to rid the man of his clothes, unbuttoning that atrocious plaid shirt and all but ripping it from his body. His lips moved down to the doctor's collarbone as his hands moved down to the top of his pants.

Inch by inch, he worked his way down. No bit of skin was left unattended to. He lavished the chest beneath him with licks and scrapes from his teeth. It didn't take him long to figure out that John liked a little pain with his pleasure. He paid special attention to the bullet hole in his shoulder that got his sent home. While only a small circle was left on the front, Jim knew there was an impressive spider web of scars on the back of the shoulder. But he would get to that later, preferably when he was already hip deep in the man.

Slowly, he eased John's pants down to reveal more of that skin that tasted so good to his tongue. If Jim were the type to believe in God, he'd surely be thanking the big man now. With abs and hips bones that would make Greek statues jealous, John's body was truly a work of art. His breath was coming in short gasps now as Jim nuzzled the side of his penis, a high whine escaping those bruised lips.

Flicking his tongue out, he made his way up the shaft from base to tip, making sure to collect the drop of pre-cum that had gathered at the head before smirking up at John from under dark brows. Seeing the pleading look on the other's face, he wasted no time in swallowing the man whole. The warmth that filled his mouth was like a promise of the tight heat he would be feeling around his own appendage later.

Humming so that vibrations were sent down the shaft, Jim wrapped his tongue around it as best he could before pulling back until only the head was in his mouth. Glancing up, he saw that his hapless victim's hands were already fisting the sheets, back arched and mouth open. A low moan filled the air as Jim flicked his tongue across the slit and dipped down again.

Oh, he was enjoying this.

Bringing his hands up to the other man's naked thighs, he dug his nails into the skin, just hard enough to leave little dimples but not to break it. His own member nearly hurt and ached for attention. Just a little longer now.

He bobbed his head up and down a couple more times before releasing John from his mouth with a pop, earning a whine in protest.

"Not to worry, Johnny-boy. The fun is only just beginning."

Reaching past the other man, Jim rooted in his bedside drawer to find the lube he kept there for 'special occasions.' He squirted a bit into his hand and went back to licking the gorgeous cock in front of him as he reached down with one hand and slowly pressed a single finger against the bundle of muscles. After a moment's resistance, the ring relaxed and he was able to slide in. He crooked the finger and stroked a node that caused John's hips to jump off the bed, nearly making him choke as his member was shoved a bit too deep.

Using one hand to hold those glorious hips down, he slipped a second finger into that warm depth. He circled the node lightly, making John shudder and moan loudly, before scissoring to loosen him up. All the while, he kept bobbing his head and licking at the thick shaft in his mouth. Another stroke of the node and he was slipping a third finger in, then a fourth.

Once he felt that the man was properly stretched he pulled his fingers out. He gave John's cock one last lick before pulling back and placing a kiss on his stomach, then his chest, and finally his gasping lips.

"Having fun?"

John opened his mouth to say something but Jim cut him off with another kiss, thrusting his tongue deep into the other's mouth and letting him taste himself. He let up only when his lungs were screaming for air, leaving them both gasping for breath.

"Oops, sorry. I forgot I said no talking. My bad!"

He didn't sound very sorry.

Standing, he shucked off his own clothes, folding his items carefully and hanging them over a chair. It was a Westwood, after all.

Climbing back onto the bed he kissed John again. Ooo, he could get used to this…addicted even. Another peck. Who was he kidding? He was already addicted.

"Jim?"

Right. Concentrate. Guess it was true what they said about addictions going to your head. He pressed another kiss to John's lips before settling in between his legs.

"Shhhh…"

He swallowed John's groan as he slipped inside. His mind went suddenly, totally blank as he was engulfed by that sweet heat. He pushed in until he was fully seated and then paused to give John time to adjust. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he wasn't the type to participate in a lot of male on male activities.

Maybe that was the reason why he was so damnably tight, even after being stretched.

Jim knew he could move again when John's hips started pushing against his own. Slowly pulling out, he pushed back into that amazing feeling before setting a fast, hard pace. Angling each thrust to hit against the bundle of nerves from earlier, he sat back and watched the beautiful specimen below him writhe in pleasure.

Nipping and sucking on the other man's neck, Moriarty made sure to leave more than one mark to proclaim that this was his property for all to see. John's cock was caught between their bodies, thriving on the friction of each thrust.

Now, now he WAS screaming. John's voice filled the room, bouncing off the walls and reminding Jim just how good the acoustics in the room where. Oh, yes. He would definitely be keeping this flat for a while.

He felt a coiling sensation in his stomach and knew that it wouldn't be long. Beneath him, John was panting and moaning and pushing back against him.

"Jim…Jim…I'm gonna…I'm so close!"

A feral growl ripped its way from his lips and he leaned down until his lips brushed against his ear.

"Let me hear you scream!"

John did not disappoint as he shouted out his climax, his heat tightening around Moriarty's girth. A few more pumps and he was spilling his own seed deep inside the blonde. Panting, he collapsed on top of the other man.

"That was…"

"Yeah."

After a moment to catch his breath, Jim pulled out and rolled to the side. His forehead stayed pressed to John's shoulder.

"So where do we go from here? I'm not so naïve as to think that you'll suddenly be okay with me trying to kill your partner just because we're shagging."

John hummed thoughtfully in response before speaking.

"I guess there's only one thing to do."

"What's that?"

Now it was John's turn to let an evil smile stretch across his face. He flipped himself easily so that he was crouching over the mastermind.

"Make YOU scream."


	2. Unbelievable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock deduces, as he is wont to do.

John paused outside of the door to 221B Baker Street before steeling himself and pushing the door open. He'd woken up to an armful of Jim Moriarty(consulting criminal, arch-nemesis of his flat mate, and the newest conquest of John 'Three Continents' Watson) and another round of mind-blowing sex to go with the three they'd had the night before. Despite the warm, contented feeling in his chest, the doctor had no misconceptions that Sherlock would kindly not notice this new turn of events. He could only hope to maybe hide the details.

He entered the flat to find Sherlock pacing, obviously deep in thought. He dashed about grabbing things and shoving them in the pockets of his great black coat.

"John! There you are! Just in time. Lestrade called; there's been a triple homicide in Regent's Park. Apparently the bodies have been mummified! Isn't it brilliant?!"

"I suppose. Have fun. I think I'll stay in and sit this one out, if it's all the same to you."

The detective, who'd still been buzzing around the flat, stopped on a dime and wheeled to face his flat mate. John had the rare pleasure of seeing a look of surprise upon his face. There was a moment of silence in the air between them before Sherlock was suddenly crowding John's personal space, sniffing and examining in a way that made John highly uncomfortable.

"Hey! Stop that!"

"You went home with someone last night. That much is obvious from the stink of coitus that still clings to your skin and obvious bite marks on your neck. That or you were assailed by a vampire on your way home, which I find unlikely given your blood type."

"My blood type? Sherlock, what-"

"What is odd about this particular instance is that you actually have an overlay of deodorant that you most likely threw on this morning before leaving that apartment of your newly acquired lover. Generally you don't bother with such things because you aren't the type to wear frilly, floral scents that are some common to female hygiene products…This is a man's deodorant."

The feeling of dread coiled in John's abdomen.

"It could be that you had an affair with a married or otherwise taken woman but you aren't the type to cheat or to enable those who do. She could live with a man that she was not attached to, but you value personal property to much to share grooming products with just anyone. No, this deodorant belong to the person you slept with. A distinctly MALE person."

Seeing that look of surprise twice in less than five minutes made the debacle John knew would be coming completely worth it. The good doctor drew himself up to his full height and thrust his chin out in an obstinate manner.

"Is that a problem?"

"What? No. No, it's…its fine. It's all fine. Just…surprising."

"Yeah, well, point is, I had a long night. Think you can handle this one on your own?"

"Unfortunately, no, I'll be in need of your medical expertise. You'll have to come with me." He swept past and down the stairs, throwing a shout over his shoulder of, "Come along, John! We haven't got all day!"

John gave a wistful glance at his chair before turning and following the consulting detective out the door.  
JWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJM  
"Late night, huh?"

John jerked awake from where he'd dozed off while leaning against a tree at the crime scene to find DI Lestrade smirking at him, a knowing look in his eye. The doctor looked over to where Sherlock was busy arguing with Anderson about some trivial detail that forensic scientist had missed.

"Yeah. You could say that."

"You're a dog. You know that, right?"

"The opinion has been raised to me before, yes."

The DI laughed.

"Well, come on. I'm going to need your help pulling the children apart. God knows you're the only one Sherlock will listen to."

Pushing himself off the tree, John ambled after the Inspector.

"Honestly, I don't know how you've managed to survive so long with such low brain function. You are the perfect example of why some species consume their young at birth."

"You would know, wouldn't you? Freak like you, no doubt you ARE another species!"

John cut Sherlock off as he was about to deliver a scathing reply.

"Alright, alright. Let's focus on the case shall we? Have you got any theories?"

"Well, it's blindingly obvious that these three aren't actual mummies, though the procedure that went through seems to be quite historically accurate. The killer knew what he was doing, probably spent some time in Egypt and has a background in archeology. There's soil residue in the wrappings that I've collected to take back to the lab. That being said, it's safe to say that these bodies were dumped here but mummified within 10 miles of here. Also, there was this."

He pulled a small bit of cloth from his pocket. Holding it out, it became obvious that it was a monogrammed handkerchief. The letters AGH stood out clearly against the stark whiteness.

"Where'd you get that?"

"It was tucked inside some of the wrappings. This," he held out the handkerchief again as if to emphasize its importance, "is a handkerchief that matches perfectly to that of one Sir Anthony Gustav Hutchinson who commissioned us for a case not two years ago."

"I remember that one! His wife lost an emerald bracelet, wasn't it?"

"Yes. A squirrel had absconded with it and I located it in the ventilation system."

"But what does that have to do with this case?"

"Oh, don't be so dense, Lestrade. It's perfectly obvious." They all just looked at him. "Oh, come on! It's right there! Right in front of your noses!" He threw up his hands in exasperation. "Who has a thing for sending me items from my previous cases? The shoes? The phone? Now the handkerchief?"

Lestrade suddenly snapped to attention.

"Moriarty."

John stiffened as Sherlock's face lit up in excitement.

"There are a few other possibilities, but he is the most likely. Oh, the game is ON!"

Jim did not order these deaths. Deep down, John KNEW that. He could sense it in a way he couldn't quite explain. He had to do something. He had to divert Sherlock's attention.

"What are the other possibilities?"

It was an innocent enough question, John thought. As Sherlock's back stiffened, though, and he turned his sharp, calculating gaze towards the shorter man, John knew he was blown. Sherlock had figured it out.

"OH." It was almost a gasp, as the younger Holmes brother slotted all the pieces into place. He couldn't believe it. He didn't WANT to believe it. He closed the distance between himself and his partner in mere moments. He spoke in a hushed voice so that only the doctor would be able to hear. "John, please tell me I am wrong. Tell me I am wrong right now and I will forget this thought ever crossed my mind."

"W-well, I-"

"Unbelievable!" He whirled around, raising his voice so the others could hear. "Sorry, Lestrade, something's come up. Text me when you have the lab results. You can send the samples to Molly."

"What? Sherlock! You can't just run off in the middle of a crime scene! What about the case?!"

"Can't be helped, I'm afraid."

Ignoring any further protests, Sherlock grabbed John's arm and hauled him away from the scene, not once looking at his partner. They spent the cab ride back to Baker St in silence, Sherlock glaring moodily out the window while John fidgeted nervously.

"Are you going to talk-"

"Not now."

The curtly delivered command was the only communication they had until they were safely behind the locked doors of their flat. Only then did the consulting detective turn on his partner with a threatening air.

"Really, John? Jim Moriarty? What were you THINKING?!"

The blonde bristled.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I missed the point where you suddenly became the responsible one! In case you didn't get the memo, I'm not the one that goes running off into dark alleys after assassins without back up! I'm not the one who leaves body parts willy-nilly around the flat! Nor do I do experiments with cyanide and arsenic in the cooking pots!"

"That was ONE TIME! I needed to see how the poisons would react when combined with industrial strength bubble liquid! A man's alibi depended on it! Besides, that's not even the point! This is Jim Moriarty, John! Jim BLOODY Moriarty! Or are you forgetting that he strapped you into a BOMB? How about him trying to kill us, do you remember that?"

"Yes, I remember! I know who I bloody well slept with!"

"Apparently you don't! He killed three people last night! Or ordered someone else to."

"No, he didn't! You said there were other possibilities! I suggest you look into them because Jim didn't have anything to do with those three murders."

"Oh, it's 'Jim' now, is it?"

John nearly growled.

"Look, I can't explain it but I know he wasn't involved in whatever happened last night. I can feel it."

"Oh, well then, as long as you can feel it. Sentiment is the destroyer of logic, John!"

Frustrated beyond belief, John pulled out his cell phone and scrolled to his most recently added contact. Putting it on speaker, the sound of ringing filled the room.

"Who are you calling?"

There wasn't time to reply before the call was answered.

"Johnny-boy! I must admit I wasn't expecting a call so soon, not that I'm complaining. To what do I owe this…pleasure? Hoping for a repeat of last night? I am."

"I'm afraid this isn't a social call, Jim."

They could practically hear the man pouting at the other end of the line.

"Fine, love, but know you'll be paying for getting my hopes up later."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the smile that flitted across John's face. Was this what he was going to have to deal with from now on? He'd rather jump of the roof of St. Bart's. (A/N: Too soon?)

"There was a triple homicide last night in Regent's Park."

"Ah, the mummifications! Yes, my people informed me of it this morning after you left. Quite fascinating. Let me guess, the little genius thinks I had something to do with it."

It was at this point that Sherlock couldn't resist throwing in his two pence.

"It has your signature written all over it, Moriarty. I don't know what kind of game you think you're playing with John, but don't think I'm going to fall for you tricks."

"Sherlock! So nice to hear your voice again! It's been a little while, hasn't it? You needn't worry, though; I wasn't involved with the mummies. I positively hate mummification. Soooooooo messy. Besides I'm not playing any games, not right now. No, I'm afraid Daddy's much too busy for games at the moment. I suppose I should mention that I'm not playing with John, either. My attachment to your flat mate is quite sincere, I assure you." There was a pause. "Speaking of which, John, you wouldn't happen to be free tonight, would you? It's only fitting that I take you on a proper date now that we've both acknowledged our attraction for each other."

A blush covered the doctor's cheeks.

"Y-yeah."

"Excellent! I'll pick you up at eight, then? I'm afraid I have a meeting at six and won't be able to get there any sooner."

"That's alright. Eight sounds perfect."

"Wonderful! Oh, and Sherlock, congratulations. It turns out you were right about me the first time we met."

"What?"

"I am gay! Looks like there was more to the underwear than I thought…"

"Unbelievable!"


	3. Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Jim go on a date.

John Watson was nervous. How could he not be? He was about to go on a _date_ with _Jim Moriarty._ Somehow, that felt like so much more than sleeping with the man.

He also felt somewhat like a silly woman. What should he wear? Was this too dressy? Was it too casual? Jim always wore a suit, but maybe that was only for committing crimes? God, did this jumper make him look _fat?_

He thought, briefly, about asking Sherlock for help but quickly disregarded the idea. He had to be mental to seriously consider that an option. He'd have better luck consulting the skull.

This would be so much easier if he knew where they were going. He wished Jim had told him earlier, but of course he hadn't. He could call and ask, he supposed, but he didn't want to appear too eager. He needed to be calm, cool, collected.

Oh, who was he kidding? He was freaking out.

Invade a perfectly nice country? No problem.

Chase dangerous criminals down dark alleys? Anytime.

Perform a life-saving surgery with only a paperclip, a screw driver, and a bag of crips? He'd done it once. (That was one Hell of an appendectomy.)

But a date with Jim Moriarty? SO not ready.

Which, all things considered was perhaps not something to be embarrassed about. After all, the man was a criminal mastermind who put Sherlock Holmes through his paces on a regular basis and often came out on top. But now we're getting off topic.

John nearly jumped out of his skin when the door of his room flew open to reveal a quite surly looking consulting detective.

"Sherlock?! What do you want?"

Instead of answering him, the dark-haired man swept past him to start rifling through his drawers, throwing clothes over his shoulder at the stunned blonde.

"Wear these slacks, the black can be considered either casual or dressy so you can adapt to your environment. This button up will go nicely, black on black is sure to appeal to Moriarty's tastes. Also, the blue tie will complete the look. It'll bring out your eyes. Do NOT let me see you touch a sweater; it'd ruin the whole effect. Wear your black jacket."

John just stared at his flat mate, arms full of clothes and mouth hanging open. Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed in exasperation.

"I could practically hear your panicked thinking from down stairs. It's distracting and ONE of us is still has a murder to solve."

The corner of John's lips quirked up into a smile. This was probably as close to acceptance as he could hope to get from Sherlock in terms of his new relationship.

"Thanks, mate."

Sherlock just rolled his eyes again and brushed past the shorter man to return to what he'd been doing previously.

John changed and putted around the house as he waited to be picked up. He'd never realized how nerve wracking the waiting could be. He'd always been the one to pick up his dates and so had never had this experience before. He had to make tea three times before he could concentrate long enough to do it correctly. Sherlock kept glaring at him from the other room.

A black car with tinted windows pulled up outside at exactly 8:05. (John had spent the last five minutes silently panicking. What if Jim had just been playing with him after all?) Sherlock watched from the window as Jim Moriarty stepped out and knocked on the door to 221. Absently, he supposed it was a good thing that Mrs. Hudson was out. It wouldn't do to give her such a fright. He moved to the top of the stairs as John opened the door.

"I must say, doctor, you are looking scrumptious! I'm tempted to skip dinner and go straight for dessert. Sorry I was late, I had a bit of trouble ditching my security. My head of security is getting rather anxious about how much time I've been spending unsupervised."

Moriarty was dressed in his signature Westwood suit, purple tie peeking out to match the amethysts of his cuff links. They were going to a fancy restaurant then, as Sherlock had guessed earlier. Moriarty would be trying to impress John. He should know better than to think that money was going to be what got to the doctor. The blonde was much more likely to swoon over a silly, sentimental gesture than anything else.

Good. Hopefully John would lose interest quickly and things could go back to normal. He tuned back into the conversation going on at the bottom of the stared, realizing that he'd missed John's response. Moriarty was now holding open the door and gesturing John through it.

"Shall we get going then? Oh, and, Sherlock? Don't bother waiting up. I have absolutely no intention of having the good doctor back by morning."

John turned scarlet up to his ears but hurried out the door, no doubt to avoid further embarrassment in front of his flat mate. The criminal consultant waved up and Sherlock before winking and following the blonde out of the door. The moment it shut, Sherlock flew into action.

He grabbed an old, beat up, brown coat from his closet and scrambled out the back window to drop into the alley behind. Taking a moment to map out the London streets in his mind and figure out which one the car had most likely taken, Sherlock pulled his coat close and cinched it shut by tying his scarf around his waist. He darted out of the alley way just in time to see the car turn right at the end of the street. Good, that narrowed down the possibilities.

He took off running, grabbing a hat from a member of his homeless network he'd placed sporadically around the area. He'd known there'd be no time to properly disguise himself before he took off after John. There was no way he was going to allow Moriarty to hurt his flat mate. He didn't believe for a second that the man had simply discovered an attraction to the blonde out of nowhere.

Whipping around another corner, Sherlock spotted the thing he really needed. Dan, a mechanic he'd gotten off a theft charge was waiting with a shiny, new motorcycle, all ready to go. Sherlock grabbed the bike tipped his hat at the man, glad he'd made the call earlier, before revving the engine and taking off like a bottle rocket. Running around in back alleys and across roofs was great, but he'd need more speed if he was going to be able to keep up with Moriarty over any great distance.

He caught sight of the car again as he blew through a red light, three streets ahead. The black vehicle was whipping through traffic at a rate that would be considered dangerous were anyone else driving. Sherlock, however, had no doubt that the criminal mastermind had quick enough reflexes to be able to deal with any situation that may arise. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered how John was handling the reckless driving.

He tailed them for another twenty minutes before the car pulled to a stop in front of Marcello's, a French restaurant of great renown. It'd only been open a few months, but rumor had it reservations had to be booked eight months in advance.

Without wasting a moment, Sherlock pulled the bike down a side street and shot a text out. Five minutes later, a young woman from his in leather and tattoos turned down the side street. She carried a server uniform under her arm. When she spoke, it was with an American accent.

"It's my one night off and you still call me back to work. You're lucky I owe you, Sherlock. He's the uniform. Try not to make a mess of my restaurant, would you?"

Sherlock jerked his head in a nod and took the clothes, throwing her the keys to the bike.

"Dan says all the repairs are done. There's nothing to worry about."

"Good. Thanks."

After ducking behind a trash bin to change, Sherlock hurried to the back of the restaurant, slipping in the employee entrance. He grabbed a bottle of wine and some glasses before making his way onto the floor. He spotted John and Moriarty being seated near the back of the establishment, away from the windows. Keeping his head down and quirked to the side, he headed towards a table in their vicinity.

"I can't believe you were able to get a table here! I thought you had to wait months to place a reservation!"

Moriarty's grin was slow as he leaned towards John.

"The owner's brother got himself into a spot of trouble a while back. He worked for a guy who worked for a guy who worked for me. Honestly, I didn't have anything to do with the situation until she brought it to me. We made a deal. I made sure my people didn't kill him and he cleaned up his act, and she provided me with a table at any of her establishments anytime for the rest of my life. It was a good deal and I certainly got the better end of it."

"I didn't realize you were in the business of saving lives. I guess I never really thought about it."

"I have an image to uphold, dear." John blushed lightly at that. "I can't let it get out that I do more business getting people out of situations than I do getting people into them. That was a special case, though. Half the reason I even struck the deal with her was because she actually managed to get in touch with me. For someone with no previous experience in anything even the slightest bit troubling that was very impressive."

The two continued to talk about pointless things as Sherlock drifted around the room, always keeping his face turned away and ducking behind things to keep from being spotted by the two. John would be livid if he found out. As the night wore on and one glass of wine turned into two, turned into three, and dessert was served, John's smile became easier and gestures more affectionate.

He'd hooked his ankle with Moriarty's under the table was leaning closer to the other man whenever he talked. There was a glint in his eye that Sherlock had only seen on rare occasions with John's past girlfriends. (He followed them when he was bored.) That look generally led to things that Sherlock would not allow inside his flat. The last thing he needed was to hear exclamations to deities while trying to work.

That thought, of course, brought mental images to mind that Sherlock really did not want to have. A genius of his caliber obviously had a very accurate and active imagination. He had to duck back into the kitchen to keep from calling attention to himself as he retched at the thought of Moriarty and John doing that in the flat. He would absolutely, positively, not allow it. Never. Ever.

When he returned to the dining room, the two were standing and were about to head for the door. That meant he had to move quickly. Dashing back through the kitchen, Sherlock changed back into his previous attire and made for the parking garage set off to the side of the building. It was easy to slip into the valet section without being seen and even easier to find Moriarty's car.

It took just a moment to jimmy the lock on the trunk and flip it open. Rolling inside, Sherlock pulled the lid shut. (Though not before making sure that there was a release handle of the inside. He wouldn't put it past Moriarty to have such a thing removed from his vehicles.) No more than a minute later did Sherlock feel the vehicle shift as the valet climbed in and took it back to its rightful owner.

What came next was probably the most terrifying thing Sherlock Holmes had ever experienced and the closest he had ever come to looking Death in the face. If someone had come to him in that moment and offered him any religion in the world, he would have taken them all. As reckless as Moriarty's driving looked from afar, it was a thousand times worse when you were locked in a trunk.

It took several minutes for Sherlock to recover after the vehicle had screeched to a halt and been turned off, one wheel sitting pretty on top of the curb. The first thing Sherlock did after managing to stumble out of the back was to empty his stomach into the nearest bush. He didn't even care if Moriarty had snipers in the area. He hoped they would shoot him and put him out of his misery.

After some more time passed with Sherlock laying on the blessedly still ground, the detective finally managed to make it to his feet without being sick again. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his coat, glad not to have worn his black one. He'd hate for anything to happen to that coat. Once he'd caught his breath, the detective cast around for clues as to which of the buildings John and Moriarty had disappeared into.

The scuff mark of a shoe by the door jumped out at him from the building just to his right. The wall still clung to a few loose fibers from John's shirt. The scene of the blonde doctor stumbling into the wall played out in Sherlock's head as though he were watching it happen. No doubt his partner was too inebriated to retain his full coordination.

Given the man's build, three glasses of wine was plenty to lower his inhibitions and make him quite suggestible, not to mention the delay it would add to his reaction time. Besides, it was entirely possible that Moriarty had managed to slip something into John's drink during the few times when Sherlock had been in the back. The car ride would have given it plenty of time to kick in and by now he would be an easy target for the mad man. There was no telling what he had planned, be it killing John now or keeping him alive in captivity for some other nefarious purpose.

If he was to thwart Moriarty's plans, he would need to act fast. John needed him. The stubborn, occasionally dense ex-soldier had managed to wrangle a position in Sherlock's life that no one else could claim; that of a friend. Sherlock would be damned if he let Moriarty take that away from him.

He bound up the stairs of the building until he located the right door. John's tie lay upon the floor outside, no doubt lost in the heat of a scuffle. The door hung slightly ajar, which meant that Moriarty hadn't had time to close it since accosting John. As he drew close, Sherlock heard the blonde cry out. Throwing caution to the wind, the detective burst inside, intent on saving the blogger he now considered family.

John had his head thrown back, mouth agape as Jim worked that amazing, fantastic tongue between the doctor's legs. They hadn't even made it into the living room before things had heated up. John had ripped his tie off in the hallway, pushing Moriarty into his own apartment with a furious kiss. He'd made an attempt to kick the door closed behind him but wasn't sure, and didn't care, if his effort was actually successful.

He let out a sharp cry as Jim scraped his teeth along his erection. He could die in this moment and be completely happy. Knotting his fingers in dark hair, John was about to pull the man up to ravage his mouth when the door slammed open.

He jumped and his eyes flew wide open to find Sherlock bloody Holmes standing in the doorway, mouth hanging open. He seemed to scramble for words.

"Wha-But…I thought…"

The interruption didn't seem to have bothered Jim, who pulled back slowly and gave John's cock a goodbye kiss on the head. He didn't, however, get off his knees as he twisted to face Sherlock, shit eating grin spread wide across his cheeks.

"So, I see you finally made it out of the trunk of the car. To be totally honest, I was starting to worry."

Sherlock sputtered while John seemed incredibly confused.

"You knew?"

"What trunk?"

"Didn't you know? Sherlock's been following us ever since we left your flat. He kept flitting around the restaurant like an angry humming bird and then he slipped into the trunk of my car while it was still in valet parking."

"Is that why you were driving like that? I thought you were going to kill us! And, Sherlock! I don't even know what you say to you! This is so completely inappropriate I can't even find the words to describe it!" It seemed that in John's anger, he'd forgotten that he was exposed. "What gave you the right to tale me? You'd better have a real good explanation for this! So help me God, if the word 'bored' comes out of your mouth!"

The detective could feel the blackness closing is around the edges of his vision. He shook his head to clear it, but that only seemed to make the feeling worse. He was having trouble thinking.

"I thought he was…I only…What?"

His eyes rolled into the back of his head as his knees buckled and he passed out, crumbling to the floor in the doorway. John huffed in a long suffering way, but Jim's grin only got impossibly wider.

"I think it's kind of sweet he came after you. It makes me feel better that you're in good hands while I'm not there. I like knowing that he'd try and help you."

"I'm sorry?"

"Obviously, he thought I had some nefarious purpose for you and so came to rescue you. Quite touching, really."

John sighed again.

"Alright, let's move him out of the doorway. Just shove him into the hall. Serves him right for thinking I need protection. It's a lesson you should learn, too."

He sent a warning glance at the dark haired man still kneeling before him before letting a small smile slip out. He nudged Sherlock out into the hall and grabbed his tie before shutting the door. Jim grinned at him, still on his knees, before speaking.

"Now, Doctor, about that oral exam…"


	4. Captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian Moran visits some old army buddies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is about Sebastian Moran. I want to take a moment to explain who this is, as I am aware that some who have watched the show but not read the books may not be familiar with the character. Moran is Jim Moriarty's right hand. He basically takes care of the dirty work. He was a Colonel and I have taken some liberties with his backstory, so please do not take everything you read here about him as fact. Thank you.

Sebastian Moran did not like it. He did not like it one little bit. His employer, Jim Moriarty, had been acting…strange. There was no other way to describe it. It wasn't his normal 'I'm a mad genius' strange, either.

As second in command, it was Moran's job to oversee Jim's operations, make sure everyone was doing their job, and manage Jim's personal protection. You didn't make it to the top of the underworld without making a few enemies, after all. For the last few weeks, though, Jim had been disappearing. He'd either ditch his guards, which always gave Moran a heart attack, or dismiss them with the threat of death or being fired. (Basically the same option)

At first, the ex-soldier had tried tailing his boss. He'd rather get caught doing that then have something happen to Moriarty. If Moriarty fell, there'd be no containing the fall out. Besides, he was fairly sure that his boss wouldn't kill him. He was the only one Jim seemed to connect with, even if only vaguely.

Tonight, though, tonight it did not matter. Jim Moriarty was not Moran's problem tonight. He was going to relax and go to a pub with some of his old army buddies. He was going to knock back a few beers and tell stories about the good old days and if anyone so much as mentioned responsibility, he was going to shoot them.

He'd already arranged for his boss's protection for the night and had even drawn a promise from the man that he wouldn't ditch them. He'd muttered something about not having anything better to do and huffed in obvious annoyance before stalking off to another meeting. Unless something major came up, Sebastian Moran had the night off.

That, he did like.

He arrived at the pub a few minutes early, a habit he'd picked up from his first Captain in the army. Speaking of which, he spotted the man already staking claim on a table off to the side of the bar, enough out of the way so that they wouldn't have to battle the music to talk. He approached the table with a grin and laugh.

"Well, if it isn't Captain John Watson! How are you doing, mate? It's been years!"

The blonde rose to give him a strong hug before gesturing for him to take a seat.

"Sebastian! I haven't seen you since they promoted you to captain and gave you your own unit! What are you doing these days?"

"Made it all the way to Colonel before I left. Now I do some private security work for a bloke in the area."

"I always knew you'd be good at that sort of thing. You always had an eye for the details."

They continued to chat as more and more of their old army buddies trickled in, soon filling the table and two more on either side. They swapped stories and traded experiences since they'd been back. Kingston had gotten engaged and a round of shots was called for, as wedding invitations were extended to all those present.

Eventually, conversation turned to Watson and his blog. Moran was perfectly aware that Watson worked with Sherlock Holmes and had come to terms with the fact that he'd probably have the kill his former Captain someday. He'd been one of the ones holding the sniper rifle that day at the pool, but he tried not to let that get in the way of their current friendship.

They listened and laughed as the blonde doctor talked about the crazy adventures the two had shared.

"So we're standing there, in the middle of this woman's apartment while she waves this gigantic purple dildo at us! I swear, the thing had to be the size of my forearm! I can't imagine where she possibly could have been putting it! Now Sherlock, in all his infinite wisdom, chooses that moment to turn to me and say, 'She didn't do it, John. There is no way that thing could have caused the blunt force trauma we saw in the victim.' I about decked him, I swear!"

The room burst into laughter and Moran had to clap John soundly on the back.

"You were always great at telling a story! I don't see why you didn't put that one on that blog of yours."

"And deal with the temper tantrum that Sherlock was sure to throw? No thank you. I deal with enough of his shenanigans as it is! He can't even stay out of my relationships! You know, two weeks ago, he followed me on a date? The git broke into the car while it was valet parked and hid in the bloody trunk. Who does that?"

"Maybe he's jealous! Wouldn't be the first time someone had wanted a piece of Three Continents Watson."

Moran waggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner before bursting into laughter. He knew full when that John and Sherlock weren't involved in that way, but that didn't mean he was going to pass up a perfectly good opportunity to rib his former Captain. The look of 'oh, Hell no' that decorated John's face was well worth it.

"I don't even want to think about that, ok? Besides, I am otherwise engaged."

"Oh! Looks like John Watson is getting serious!"

Davies leaned forward with a grin so wide it nearly split his face in half. Matthews and Roberts leaned closer. After all, John had been known in their unit as a man who flitted from woman to woman without a problem and with the news from Kingston earlier in the night; any hint of commitment was taken to a whole new level.

"Well, it's only been a couple weeks. I wouldn't say it's that serious yet…"

"Yet! The bloke said yet!" Davies, who'd had a bit too much to drink already, was almost half way across the table by then. "So tell us, Captain! Who's the lucky lady?"

John leaned back in a hopeless attempt to protect his personal space. He seemed to flounder for something to say. Hesitation was the wrong thing to do, like showing fear to a wild animal. Now Roberts and Matthews had joined in, drawing the attention of the others.

"C'mon! What could a name do?"

"Yeah! Just give us a name! What's the harm in that?"

John still floundered, much to Moran's amusement. They were going to eat him alive.

"W-well, I…I mean we…Uh-"

"Seb~! Something's come up~! I need you back in the office!"

Moran nearly growled as Jim bloody Moriarty swept into the pub. So much for his night off. Not to mention that now John would know who he worked for, which meant all his other army buddies would know. Yeah, this was definitely shit creek.

He glanced at John to gauge his reaction, but instead of fear or anger he only saw surprise. A quick check of his employer saw the same expression mirrored there. Jim, however, recovered much more quickly.

"Johnny-boy! I wasn't expecting to find you here! How do you know Seb?"

John kind of shook himself to get over the shock before glancing at Sebastian, a look in his eye that the other could quite read.

"We were in the army together. I was his Captain."

"Isn't the world such a small place?" He flitted around the table to drop a quick kiss on the blonde's mouth. "As much as I'd like to stay and chat, there's an embezzlement scheme in Italy that simply must be dealt with. I'm going to have to steal Seb and run."

Now John was looking at him and Moran dimly registered that every single one of their army mates were silent, watching this unfold with rapt attention.

"Wait, so you work for Jim Moriarty?"

Moran cleared his throat.

"Yeah, and did he just kiss you?"

Jim huffed behind them. He'd always hated being ignored. He yanked on Sebastian's arm in an attempt at getting the man to stand.

"Yes, yes! I hired Seb right after he got out of the army to help me keep my business in line. He's been an absolutely invaluable resource. John and I have been going out for the past several weeks, which is why I've been ditching my security detail. And yes, we are fucking. It's wonderful. Now can we get back to business?!"

Moran collected himself and stood, still trying to absorb this new information.

"Right. Yeah." He glanced down at John. "I'll, uh…I'll call you."

"Sure."

The blonde Captain looked as shocked as he felt. Jim dipped down for one last kiss before spinning around and heading for the door.

"I'll see you Friday, love~! Do make sure Sherlock doesn't duct tape you to a chair again, would you?"

Sebastian Moran sent a final look back as he stepped out of the doors to the pub. He did not envy the looks John was getting from the remaining group. He did not envy them at all.


	5. Quandary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft wants to find out what Moriarty is up to...and is in for a nasty surprise...

Mycroft Holmes was in one. He wasn't used to the situation and he most certainly didn't like it. It was one of the many things that were different between himself and his brother. What he was in was a quandary; a disagreeable or puzzling situation, a perplexity.

The root of this problem? Jim Moriarty, but not in the way the man usually was.

Usually, he made a nuisance of himself by, well, making a nuisance of himself. He stole government secrets and derailed MI6 missions. He paid cabbies to kill people and strapped little old ladies into bomb vests. Now, it seemed, he'd found a new way to torture the elder Holmes brother.

Jim Moriarty was silent.

Neither hide nor hair had been seen of him. There were no rumors of plot or whispers of conspiracy. The government kept an eye on people like Moriarty. (Really, though, there are no people like Moriarty.) The man had just seemed to have lost all interest in organizing crimes.

That being said, he did continually drop off the radar. This was nothing new, though.

Mycroft Holmes knew perfectly well that he only saw the bits of Moriarty that Moriarty wanted to have seen. This, of course, did nothing to lessen his concern. A fact which, in turn, caused the quandary he was currently in.

It was never good when a man like Jim Moriarty was silent.

This meant one thing. Mycroft was going to have to resort to legwork. He could get his brother involved, the fool was always giddy about such adventures, but he was loath to get his brother into anything involving Moriarty. That never ended well.

"He's exited the café, sir. Target is heading south down King's Port. Proceeding to follow."

CCTV footage had tracked the mad man down to his current location, grabbing lunch with his second in command. When Mycroft had first learned of Sebastian Moran, and his past connection to John Watson, he had become instantly suspicious of his brother's flat mate, never mind that he and Sherlock had been living together for quite some time at that point.

Luckily, there seemed to have been no further contact between the two. John and Moran hadn't seen or spoken to each other since Moran had been promoted the first time. Admittedly, a part of him was glad. Mycroft would not have enjoyed having to be the one to tell Sherlock that his flat mate was in league with the enemy. But all such thoughts were irrelevant at the moment, he needed to focus on the work. If anyone deserved his full attention, it was Jim Moriarty.

His car pulled away from the curb and drove after the rest of the team. There were six teams of two tailing the criminal mastermind. They switched out every few minutes so as not to draw attention. Mycroft had hand-picked them for this assignment and they were the best of the best. He could only pray Moriarty didn't figure it out.

20 minutes later, Mycroft's prayers were answered as the team watched the man enter an apartment building that had not been on the previous list of his known residences. Parked up the block, Mycroft had a clear view of the door and was elated when Moriarty appeared just minutes later in a new suit, still flanked by Sebastian Moran. The long distance microphones the team was using easily picked up on the conversation the two were having.

"I want everyone out of the area, Seb. Everyone. This is a very important night for us and I will not have anyone disturbing my…special guest." The look of his face was so dark that even Mycroft felt a chill. "If I catch so much as a whiff of a guard…"

Moran held up a hand to forestall the threat.

"I will take care of it, sir. You won't be disturbed."

Like a light switch, Moriarty's face transformed into a smile.

"Excellent! I can't even begin to explain-"

Whatever he'd been about to say was cut off by an obnoxious ring tone splitting the air. A look of absolute joy radiated from Jim as he dug through his pockets for it.

"Never gonna give you up! Never gone let you down! Never gonna run around and desert you! Never gonna-"

"Hello, love. I'm walking out of the apartment now. You all ready?"

There was a pause as the person on the other end of the call responded. Whatever they said was clearly upsetting as the grin slid off Moriarty's face. Thunderclouds moved in its place. His hand twitched by his hip as if to go for a weapon.

"He WHAT?!"

The mastermind made a hand gesture at his second in command as he continued to listen to the voice on the other end of the phone. Moran pulled out a cell of his own and began shooting off texts. Moriarty seemed to make a physical effort to control his temper.

"I have people on the way. If he is anywhere in the vicinity…" Another pause. "I'll see you soon."

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Moriarty slid into one of the cars parks at the curb.

"You know what to do, Seb. Do not disappoint me."

The car peeled away with a squeal, leaving Moran to take up a jog down the street. As soon as the ex-military man was out of sight, Mycroft moved to exit his own vehicle. They would need to move quickly if they wanted to get in and out of the apartment without getting caught.

It took Mycroft maybe three minutes to identify the correct unit and even less for his team to pick the lock and get the door open. The three men who made up Mycroft's hand-picked team swept into the apartment and immediately set to work installing cameras and bugs that would allow for discrete monitoring. The man himself turned his attention to observing the apartment, walking calmly from room to room to see what he might discover.

The entire place seemed oddly…domestic. The elder Holmes brother wasn't naïve enough to believe that there would be obvious signs of Moriarty's nefarious lifestyle, but there were subtle things he noticed that seemed at odds with the mastermind's personality.

In the kitchen he found biscuits and tea in the cabinet (chamomile, too calming for Moriarty's tastes) and there were two cups by the sink. They'd been there too long to have been used just a few minutes ago by Moriarty and Moran, so someone else had been in the apartment earlier in the day. Moran had been under surveillance so it hadn't been him. Mycroft momentarily entertained the idea of swabbing it for DNA before brushing the idea aside, Moriarty would notice and, with the cameras, they would know soon enough anyway.

The bedroom held another treasure trove of interesting details, though they still left Mycroft with more questions than answers. The bed had clearly been slept in on both sides and the indent left behind said this wasn't a rare occurrence. Someone steady in Jim Moriarty's life? That was unexpected. Obviously, this person was also trusted enough to be around the consulting criminal while he slept, too. You didn't get where Moriarty was without making enemies and he wasn't the type of man to take chances, so this was no small feat.

It was no wonder Mycroft hadn't found out about this place earlier. Someone this important would have been jealously guarded so as not to be used as a weakness. That being said, Mycroft doubted Moriarty would think twice about letting whomever this individual was die in order to preserve his anonymity. After all, if there was one thing Mycroft could appreciate about the criminal, it was his lack of sentiment.

There were two toothbrushes on the bathroom counter, further cementing the idea that Moriarty's lover stayed the night on a frequent basis. What interested Mycroft, though, were the other bath products, or lack thereof. Deodorant, shaving cream, and a razor were set out neatly on the counter and an all-in-one shower gel/shampoo bottle was set on the lip of the shower area. A couple more, expensive looking products cluttered one corner of the shower. Each product, though, was for MEN.

Jim Moriarty's lover was a male.

Truthfully, Mycroft couldn't say he was wholly surprised. He had met the man, after all. Still, the confirmation jarred him. Even with the evidence in the rest of the house, Moriarty had always seemed somehow…above physical entanglements. Mycroft almost jumped when one of his men appeared behind him.

"We have all the equipment set up, sir."

"Excellent. There is to be no trace we were ever here, is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Three hours later found the elder Holmes brother sitting in his office, computer open in front of him. He had wasted no time in returning to the office so as to observe Moriarty's flat. The cameras were all working perfectly, but they wouldn't be able to test the bugs until Moriarty returned home. True, Mycroft could have assigned someone else to the boring task of watching the empty apartment, but this was too high priority to leave in the hands of an underling.

He straightened in his chair as movement on the screen caught his attention. Jim Moriarty strolled confidently into the apartment, looking back over his shoulder at someone who was obviously a couple steps behind.

"What I want to know, love, is what you plan on doing to make it up to me."

Jim's grin was sinful at best and Mycroft couldn't stop his eyes from bulging at the next person who stepped inside.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

John strode easily after his lover, a grin just as devious decorating his face. The things that smile did to him…

"Come here, Dr. Watson."

As soon as he was close enough, Jim reached out to grab the front of his black jacket (God, he was glad the blonde had stopped wearing those awful sweaters on their dates.) and yank him the rest of the way forward. Their lips crashed together viciously, teeth clicking painfully, but neither made any move to lessen the pressure between them. John wrapped his arms around the other's waste and pulled their bodies flush against each other. Neither could tell who moaned, maybe both of them.

Jim pulled back just enough to speak, lips still brush against each other with every word. His eyes smoldered with lust. God, before John he never knew he could feel this way. This, this was what life was about.

"Clothes. Off. Now."

It was a demand that the good doctor wasted no time is following. His coat was carelessly flung to the side, ending up over the back of a chair, as he all but ripped his shirt from his body. The pants would have followed, but Jim found that he couldn't stand to wait any longer. His hands found John's sides, dancing lightly over his ribs to an imagined melody while he dipped down to lick a stripe up the blonde's abdomen. A moment later he was attacking the blonde's neck, drawing out delicious moans that caused a tightening in his pants. Jim's tongue flicked out to lick the shell of his lover's ear.

"Let's take this somewhere more…comfortable."

The two stumbled over one another on their way to the bedroom, neither able to keep his hands off the other. It was so hard to be in public together, unable to touch…John was too concerned with public decency and Jim didn't want to upset John…yet. The doctor was just so cute when he was flustered.

Jim shoved the blonde back onto the bed, taking a moment to admire the tanned skin and powerful build. Chest rising and falling rapidly, pupils blown wide with desire, legs splayed across the sheets. He was irresistible. Dimly, he wondered how he'd made it through life pre-John. Now, though, his mind was much more focused on fixing the problem of John still having pants on. That would just not do.

He prowled forward before crawling onto the bed and over his prey. He pressed a light kiss to the man's mouth before diving back in for more. Their tongues battled for dominance as the doctor made short work of his suit jacket and shirt. Soon, they were both bare chested, trousers tented, panting hard. The blonde grinned up at him.

"This never gets old, does it?"

"Not if we did it every day for the rest of our lives."

Their lips connected again briefly before Jim broke away, working his way down John's neck while his hands worked one his belt. As he pulled the pants of the other man, John grabbed him round the waist and flipped them over with ease. He grinned up at the brunette from his place on his knees, mischief gleaming in his eye. Without breaking eye contact he leaned forward to nuzzle the bulge in Jim's trousers.

He rose up to connect their lips once more as his fingers worked at the consulting criminal's waistband. He then kissed slowly down the man's chest as he slipped those black slacks off. Pausing at the other's bellybutton, he swirled his tongue around it before letting the wet muscle dart inside, teasing the man beneath him. Jim's hips jerked in anticipation, precum already leaking from the head of his cock.

Slowly, torturously, John licked a stripe from Jim's base to his tip, once again holding eye contact the entire time. Jim shuddered and shut his eyes as the other swirled his tongue around the tip before taking the member into his mouth. Bit by bit, John slipped more of the other man inside of his mouth, relishing the small sounds that filled the room. He was about halfway down before the other finally broke and said something.

"John, if you do not hurry up I swear I will make you regret it."

Instead of giving in like his lover had hoped, John pulled away.

"Really? That sounds like a challenge…"

Grabbing Jim's discarded tie from the floor, he grabbed his lovers hands and lashed them to the headboard before the other had time to react. Surprise glinted in those dark orbs and John reveled in it.

"My, my, Johnny-boy. I had no idea you were into bondage…"

The blonde smirked.

"You learn something new every day. Besides, what was it you said that first time in the pub? I'm full of surprises."

He didn't give the other man time to respond as he went back to work between his legs. Stoking the shaft with one hand, John licked at the others heavy balls before taking them into his mouth. For someone without much experience with other men, he learned quickly. Jim was soon moaning loudly and bucking his hips up off the sheets.

Oh, God! He was gonna…He was gonna-and John stopped. He sat back on his heels and grinned as Jim whined at the loss. The curling sensation in his gut lessened a bit, but his member ached with the desire to release. Already, he was covered in a faint sheen of sweat. John delivered a light kiss to his shaft, his stomach, his chest, and finally his lips before whispering in his ear.

"I'm going to make you beg for it."

The consulting criminal's eyes shot wide open and he arched upward, desperate for contact after what those words did to him. He wanted John to ravage him, to use him in any way the other saw fit. But he wasn't going to beg. He was Jim Moriarty and he did not beg. Instead, he smirked back at the other man.

"I'd like to see you try."

A thumb swiped over his exposed nipple, making his body jerk in pleasure. How had he not noticed where John's hands were?

"As you wish."

As one hand continued to play with the nipple on the right, John's mouth turned its attention to the nipple on the left. He dragged his tongue across it, watching it pucker and harden in the cool air. He sucked it into his mouth, eliciting a low groan from its owner before biting down lightly, teasingly. His other hand pinched its own play thing, drawing more delicious moans from his captive.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jim was glad he'd chosen to wear a silk tie for this date. Otherwise, his wrists would have already been rubbed raw by their bindings. He writhed beneath John's ministrations. Good Lord, where did he learn to do those kinds of things with his mouth?

Once again, he was getting closer and closer to the edge. He could feel the pressure building and the coil in his abdomen winding tighter and tighter. He was almost there. So close…and John was gone again. Jim almost cried out at the loss. His body arched in an attempt to follow the other man.

"Ready to give in yet?" Jim just glared at the man. "I'll take that as a no."

John reached across his victim to open the drawer of Jim's bedside table. He didn't even have to look to locate the bottle of lube inside. He knew where it was by now. Popping the cap, the poured a liberal amount into his palm. He moved his now slicked fingers to trail along Jim's inner thighs, teasing him and making his squirm without the threat of getting him off.

"So I was wondering…" Here he assumed a casual tone, fingers inching higher and higher as he spoke. "You once let yourself get caught by Sherlock's brother so you could get information out of him, right? He held you for weeks without getting you to talk…" His fingers brushed against the ring of Jim's ass, still teasing. "Let's see if I can't do any better, eh?"

He punctuated his statement by thrusting two fingers deep inside his partner, which caused the other's back to arch off the bed as his fingers curled to find the familiar bundle of nerves that would set his lover on fire. Just as quickly, he withdrew his fingers from the tight heat and began teasing Jim's entrance again. His own cock ached and hung heavy between his legs, but John pushed his own needs aside for the time being. That time would come.

"What do you think? Is it working?"

Jim only growled at him, causing a smile to cross the blonde's face. Who knew he could be such a sadist? The thought only turned Jim on more, especially when the aforementioned man slipped his fingers back inside him to slowly scissor and stretch him. A whine slipped past his lips before he could stop it. Curse this man and his devilish, wonderful fingers. Surgeon's fingers, he thought absently, suitable for delicate work.

That predatory look on the blonde's face shouldn't make him this hot. He'd never let anyone tie him down before. He'd hated the feeling of vulnerability. Now, though, it only served to excite him. Who was this man who could make him feel such things?

All thoughts ceased as John brushed his fingers against his nerve bundle again before withdrawing. Another whine escaped him, along with an almost pleading, "John!" He saw the blonde's eyes light up.

"What was that?"

But Jim kept his lips tightly shut. If he let them open at all, who knew what was going to come out. This only seemed to amuse the blonde further, though. Jim watched with rapt attention as he squeezed out some more of the lube and slicked up his cock.

"Don't worry, Jim. I think I know what you want."

Lining up with Jim's entrance, John slowly pushed his way in. He sighed as the heat engulfed him, almost causing him to break control. If there was one thing the army had taught him, though, it was patience. The longer he held out, the better this would be in the end. Once he was fully seated inside he lover, he took a moment to observe the man beneath him much as Jim had done earlier.

The man looked…debauched. His hands bound to the headboard above him, chest heaving, face flushed…it was a sight to behold. And John reveled in it. He'd never been one much into bondage, though he had tried it once or twice. Somehow, though, the sight of Jim tied up beneath him drove him wild. He couldn't think of a single thing sexier. Except, of course, for making this debauched man beg.

Slowly, he drew out until just the tip of his member remained inside the other man before easing his way back in. The pace was torturous for both men and John was soon unable to resist picking up the pace. It wasn't long until Jim was writhing beneath him, moaning filling the air. Still, John didn't forget his goal and the moment he felt the other getting close, he forced himself to stop. Jim's cry was borderline angry. Despite his own frustration, John did not relent.

"You know what you need to do."

There was a moment of tense silence.

"Please…"

"Please what?"

"Please, love, fuck me. Fuck me so hard I can't remember my name. I want you to bury your cock so deep in my ass that I'll be feeling it for days. I'm so close, love, so close. Please, please, just let me come."

A feral growl ripped its way out of John's throat.

"As you wish."

Picking up the pace again, he slammed into the thinner man, finally releasing all his pent up frustration. His grip on the other's hips had to be bruising, but neither could even take notice. Jim's head was thrown back, silently screaming as he was finally able to get the release he desired. As his ass clenched around his lover, John, too, released hard inside the other man.

Panting, John collapsed next to Jim, shakily reaching up to undo his bindings. They lay in silence for several minutes, neither able to speak. From somewhere on the floor, a phone vibrated. John's, then. Jim's was never set to vibrate. It was short, too, so a text message. They both ignored it. A few more moments passed in bliss before a sharp knocking was heard from the front door.

"That'll be Sherlock, then."

John's voice was resigned, but Jim couldn't help the smirk that slipped onto his face. This hadn't been exactly what he'd planned when he let Mycroft follow him back to the apartment and set up cameras, but why not seize the opportunity to punish both him and John in one fell swoop? After all, no one makes Jim Moriarty beg and gets away with it.

"Oh, good. He'd just in time for round two…I do hope he remembered his riding crop this time."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Mycroft Holmes yanked the power cord out of the socket so fast he thought he may have permanently damaged something. He hadn't even been able to think about trying to find the power switch. He needed to stop the connection NOW. Horror had kept him watching through Moriarty and John's entanglement, but Sherlock…

He glanced back at the blank screens before him which had previously displayed a live feed of Jim Moriarty's apartment. It felt surreal, as though it had almost never happened. Actually, that was exactly right. Nothing happened tonight. He'd never been to this new apartment of Moriarty's. In fact, he didn't even know it existed.

As if to cement his decision, the elder Holmes poured himself a generous helping of scotch. A few more of those and he might even be able to convince himself.


	6. Mobile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John forgets his phone, the Yard pays the price.

"There must be something, something I missed…It's staring me in the face and I just can't see it!"

Sherlock made an angry noise as he paced in front of the board map that was on display in the middle of New Scotland Yard's Homicide Division. John and Lestrade stood a few feet away, watching. The Detective Inspector had called Sherlock that morning, mere moments after John had walked through the door from a night at Jim's. It'd been a long night, finally making up after the whole debacle with Mycroft. To say that John hadn't been pleased to find out that Jim had knowingly allowed them to be videotaped, and by Mycroft no less, would be an understatement. Needless to say, Jim hadn't been getting any since, even after he'd had a team sweep the apartment and remove any listening or video devices.

Lestrade's team had just found the third victim in a string of murders. Naturally, Sherlock had grabbed John and tore out of the flat. The victims were all regulars at a local night club. They were all male and appeared to have been drugged in the hours before their death. Sherlock had already figured out that they had known their attacker in some way. Most club goers, especially frequent ones in these times, knew to keep an eye on their drinks. No doubt, the attacker used the guise of helping them home before attacking them once the drug set in.

Lab results indicated that the drug was similar to GHP, but it had traces of some foreign substances that wouldn't normally be found in the drug. It hadn't taken Sherlock long to figure out that it was a new formula coming out of South America. The attacker must have been someone who had been there recently and was now manufacturing the drug here.

The victims had been brutally beaten and nearly ripped apart by the attacks. There were obvious markers of rage and lack of control. The bodies, however, were carefully disposed of and covered up so as not to be found right away. An attacker with that kind of clear headed thinking would be expected to have the loss of control to rip apart a human body, not to mention the amount of planning it would take to drug and abduct each victim. Interesting, indeed.

Some of Sherlock's old contacts would have more information on the drug, no doubt. If Sherlock called them, though, he was certain Mycroft would catch wind of it and assume the worst. His tedious meddling would be infuriating. The consulting detective fingered his phone in his pocket thoughtfully for a moment. No…He had no desire to deal with that.

"John. Phone."

The blonde startled out of his conversation with Lestrade.

"Sorry, what?"

"Your _phone,_ John. Come on, now. We haven't got all day. There's a killer on the loose, or haven't you heard?"

He knew he shouldn't take his irritation out on his flat mate, but it was hardly his fault he wasn't feeling overly patient with the doctor. After all, the other man had been gallivanting off with his arch-enemy. John had taken to spending 2.3 nights a week at the other's flat and other nights he wouldn't come home until early in the morning. The fact that Sherlock knew he was acting like a mother with their teenage child did nothing to stem his frustration.

At least John had made it a hard rule with Moriarty that he had to be available to go one cases. Sherlock hadn't been able to hold back his smile as he overheard that conversation. Besides, from John's behavior the past several days, Sherlock had derived some reassurance that their relationship wasn't totally rock solid. The consulting detective was well aware of the recent tension between the two and was only disappointed that it seemed to be resolving itself. Still, the two hadn't slept together the previous night, which was a good sign. It meant that Moriarty wasn't yet completely forgiven for his transgression. (And, really, it had to be Moriarty's fault, didn't it?)

As he watched John search one pocket of his trousers and then the other, Sherlock's mind deduced that the situation was far more grave than the three bodies in the morgue would suggest. With little hope for success, he watched as John searched his other pockets before the blonde turned to him. Sherlock was already digging out his own phone.

"You forgot your mobile. Oh, John, how could you be so _stupid?_ I'd expect this kind of thing from Anderson, but not you!"

He could see the instant offended look on the other's face. Lestrade stepped forward to try and placate the genius, as was his way.

"Come on, now, Sherlock. Everyone forgets their phone every once in a while."

Sherlock, however, wasn't paying attention to the DI. Instead, he was shoving his own mobile at the ex-army doctor.

"Here, call him. Quickly. We probably don't have much time lef-" His sentence was cut off as the power went out, leaving only the natural light that filtered in through the windows for them to see by. As the Yarder's looked around in confusion, Sherlock could only hang his head. "Too late."

A shout drew their attention to Donovan who was looking at Anderson in horror. The forensic specialist had four little red dots highlighting his chest. One by one, more dots began appearing on the other occupants of the room. John glanced at Sherlock in what seemed a vain attempt to beg him that this was not happening. All hope was lost however, as a sing song voice rang out across the room.

"HI~! Jim Moriarty, for those who don't know."

The man himself strode through the Yard as though he were walking in the park, instead of holding an entire Division at gun point. Sebastian and three other guards flanked him, each carrying semi-automatics trained on the officers around them. They approached the group gathered around the board in the center of the room.

Sherlock let out a disgruntled sigh and turned back to the crime board. He did not have time for this, nor the patience. He could practically hear Moriarty grinning at him.

"Sherlock."

"Moriarty."

The criminal mastermind then approached Lestrade, who was obviously stressed out to the max. With snipers pointed at himself and the rest of his team, it would be hard not to be. Jim just smiled pleasantly as if he weren't the one to order those snipers.

"You must be Detective Inspector Lestrade! I've heard a lot about you. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, though I must say, your picture doesn't do you justice. You're taller in person. I love the whole silver fox thing you've got going for you."

He took the other's hand and shook it, appearing completely oblivious to the DI's discomfort and confusion. He'd moved on to the real reason he'd come.

"John…"

" _Jim._ "

From the tension in his shoulders and his tone, it was obvious that the doctor was not pleased. Sherlock had to suppress a grin. He turned back to watch as Moriarty pulled a familiar black phone out of his pocket.

"You left this at the flat last night. I thought I'd come drop it off."

Sherlock saw the slight tick in John eyebrow before he ran a hand over his face. Forget what he thought earlier, this was going to be good.

"Jim…You can't just barge into New Scotland Yard and hold people at gunpoint! See, this is the kind of thing I was talking about."

Moriarty rolled his eyes and pouted.

"Well I couldn't just walk in. Seb would never allow it, security nightmare."

Here, Moran lifted a hand to wave at John. He held his gun almost lazily, though it didn't lessen the threat the weapon presented. Sherlock could easily tell that he was primed and ready to use it should the need arise. To his credit, his expression was a bit apologetic.

"Sorry, Cap. I couldn't just let him throw himself into the arms of NSY just to get you your phone back."

John heaved a sigh and pinched his nose, obviously trying very hard to keep a hold on his famous patience.

"Why couldn't you wait until I was home? Or at least not here! There was absolutely no need for you to storm the Yard."

For the first time since Sherlock had become aware of his existence, he saw Moriarty actually look offended. There were traces of other emotions in his expression, too; irritation, determination, protectiveness. The consulting detective rolled his eyes. He knew where this was going.

"No need? I assure you, John, there was every need."

There was no hint of amusement in his voice, nor did he use any of his various sing-song tones. That, more than anything else, displayed the seriousness of the situation. This did not however seem to faze John in the slightest. He crossed his arms gave Moriarty that stern look he usually reserved for when Sherlock had managed to blow something up or left blood stains on the kitchen table.

"And what, pray tell, makes it so perfectly necessary? Your need to flaunt everything in the public eye?"

Even Sherlock winced at that one. It was a low blow. John _must_ be angry. The younger Holmes hadn't tried to figure out what exactly had happened between the two that night a few weeks ago, mostly because he figured he didn't want to know and there was a case to solve. (A fascinating one, too, involving a sea otter and a hedgehog.) Now, though, he was decidedly interested in figuring out what could take John to this level of rage. He hadn't even been this mad the time Sherlock had used his favorite sweater to test the strength of various acids.

Moriarty opened his mouth to retort angrily back before shutting it sharply and casting a glance around the room. No one had said a word, too caught up in watching this display. Clearly, none of them had yet figured out that Jim and John were having a relationship. Idiots. Sherlock noted, though, that Lestrade was starting to put the pieces together. It was times like this that reminded him why the DI was the only one he could stand to work with from the Yard on a regular basis.

When Moriarty spoke again, it was much quieter.

"I don't want to have this conversation here."

"Well then, maybe you shouldn't have barged into _New Scotland Yard_ to drop off my _mobile._ You wanted attention, Jim? Well now you've bloody got it. Please, tell us all what was so bloody important about the phone that it couldn't wait."

At this point, Moran and the other guards were looking distinctly uncomfortable. No doubt this was the first time they had heard anyone talk to their boss in such a way. Well, at the very least it was the first time it had happened without that person being immediately eviscerated. Furthermore, it was certainly the first time they had seen him nervous. Indeed, the man looked almost cowed against John's irritation. He shifted from one foot to the other, not looking John in the eye.

"You."

Whatever John had been expecting, it clearly wasn't that. His shoulders jerked as though he'd taken a physical blow and his head drew back as if to put space between himself and the statement.

"What?"

Drawing himself up again, Jim returned eye contact.

"I don't like the thought that I wouldn't be able to contact you directly, or that you wouldn't be able to contact me. Sherlock and I live in very dangerous worlds, often by our own choosing. I have my entire network to protect me. Sherlock has Mycroft, not to mention his sheer force of will which, by the way, I'm pretty sure could stop a bullet. But you go gallivanting off of these wild escapades, often without a thought to your own safety and you're more concerned with keeping Sherlock safe than watching your own back. That time at the pool, when I kidnapped you and put you in a bomb jacket, you grabbed me and told Sherlock to get out. Had it been someone else, had I not already thought of that outcome, you could have died…I don't like the thought of you in situations like that. So I need you to have your mobile on you." Here his voice petered out again, regaining a more hushed tone. "That way you can call me…you know, if you need me. I just…I worry."

John was now gaping at the Irishman in front of him, at an utter loss for words. Sherlock, however, just rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time during this encounter and started to turn away. He'd never expected Moriarty to fall so low. _Sentiment._

"Bloody Hell…" The moment was broken as all eyes snapped to Lestrade. "You two are sleeping together!"

A wicked grin split Jim's face before he grabbed John by the collar and yanked him forward for a searing kiss. His hand snaked down to slip the other's phone into his back pocket, taking the opportunity to give him a squeeze on the arse. When he finally broke away, his men had regained their control and were holding their weapons at the Yarders again.

"I'll see you tonight. We have some making up to do."

The mad man winked at the doctor before sauntering to the door. Pausing on the threshold, he turned back as though he'd just remembered something.

"You're right, though. I do love the attention. Later, love! Hope you all enjoyed the laser pointers!"

As if on cue, all the red dots disappeared and the door swung shut.


	7. Sentiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few little snippets of Jim showing his affection for John.

When John woke up, it was slow and languid. He snuggled into his pillow, thinking perhaps to savor the morning. It had been a while since he'd had the chance to sleep in. Between Sherlock, the clinic, and Jim, it was a wonder he slept in at all. Sudden panic made him shoot up into a sitting position.

Oh, God…Jim…The man had been at the flat last night. He'd come over as soon as Sherlock had cleared up the last of the details on the club case. The two had arrived home to find Jim Moriarty sitting in their flat, having tea with Mrs. Hudson. Their elderly landlady and the criminal mastermind sat side by side, laughing amiably. They both paused as the two entered and Mrs. Hudson all but jumped up to greet them.

"Sherlock, John! Welcome back, boys. I take it the case went well?"

"What is _he_ doing here?"

Pointedly ignoring their landlady's greeting, Sherlock stormed forward to tower above the grinning man on the couch. Mrs. Hudson just huffed at his antics and sidled over to John.

"Quite a charming young man you've caught there, dearie. We were just having the most lovely chat. Jim promised to share his strawberry scone recipe with me. Isn't that sweet?"

The older woman seemed completely unperturbed by the storm cloud that was Sherlock Holmes. The man glared down at Jim, who was still sipping his tea on the couch. Jim, to his credit, didn't seem to have a problem ignoring said man. Instead, he focused his attention on the doctor across the room.

"You can ask Seb, I make the best strawberry scones in London. It's my grandmother's recipe. Besides, I consider it a completely fair trade for the promise of Mrs. Hudson's tea biscuit recipe." He picked another one up off the plate in front of him and took a bite. "How do you get them this flaky? You're a miracle worker. You have to be."

Mrs. Hudson tutted, but anyone with an eye and a heartbeat would've been able to see how pleased she was with the compliment. Living with Sherlock, you learned to take compliments where you could get them.

"It's all in how you fold the dough, dearie. You're welcome to join me when I bake a new batch next Monday. I don't know about you, but I've always found that hands on is the best way to learn a new recipe."

Grinning whole heartedly, Jim winked at John.

"Dr. Watson! You should have told me you lived with a genius!"

The blonde had to smother a laugh as he though Sherlock's head might explode. Truly, the only thing missing was steam coming out of his ears. Ever the peacekeeper, though, John thought it would be a good time to step in.

"C'mon, Jim. Why don't we head upstairs? We've got a lot to talk about it and I'm sure Sherlock would like to work on the case in peace."

Jim hummed in agreement and moved around the stewing genius to deliver a kiss to John.

"I would like nothing more."

They had gone upstairs, talked, and proceeded to have mind blowing sex before falling asleep. Now he'd woken up to discover he was alone in bed…which meant Sherlock and Jim had been unsupervised…together…Oh, dear God. What had he let happen?

Years of military service had him out of bed and pulling on pants before he had even fully woken up. He was halfway down the stairs before it occurred to him and Jim may have just been called away on business and there wasn't a disaster waiting for his attention. His hopes for that particular outcome, however, were dashed when he heard voices from the living room. The scene he walked in on, however, was not the one he had been expecting.

Jim and Sherlock sat on either side of the coffee table, a map spread out between them. They were enthusiastically marking things on the map, Jim with a red marker and Sherlock with black, while measuring the distance between each mark. As John went to step further into the room, Sherlock threw down his marker.

"It's impossible then. There's no way a single individual would have time to collect all 58 in under 3 hours."

Jim shook his head, brow creasing, and pointed to something on the map John couldn't make out.

"What if they used this corridor instead of Belleview St? I had to arrange a mugging there just 2 years ago and there is a side alley that cuts between these two buildings. It's not shown on the map but it would completely eliminate the foot traffic nuisance of Belleview."

Sherlock shot to his feet, manic grin spread wide across his face.

"Jim, that genius! You have solved the issue!" Whirling, he grabbed his coat and scarf, throwing them on as the two finally took notice of John standing awkwardly in the doorway. "About time you got up. I have to go pick up a few things, do try and make sure you and Jim don't blow up the flat while I'm gone."

And then he was gone, a hurricane barreling out the door and into the streets of London. John just turned to look at his lover, who gave him the most unhelpful comment of, "Otters," like that explained everything. John decided he'd leave it for another time.

"Were you two getting on, then? I was afraid I was going to come downstairs to find you two had killed each other."

Jim scoffed, pushing John to sit at the table and bustling around in the kitchen as though it were second nature.

"Oh, life was so dreadfully boring before I met Sherlock. I simply couldn't resist starting up a game with him. And, really, who could blame me? But now I'm not bored anymore, so there's no need for such a senseless rivalry. Though, really, I was going to win all along."

As Jim spoke, he retrieved eggs and bacon from the refrigerator that John hadn't even known were in there. Soon, the kitchen was filled with the sound of sizzling. John watched his lover busy himself at the stove and smiled.

"I didn't know you could cook."

"I've been doing it since I was a kid. Helps me relax."

It wasn't long before a heaping plate of food was set down before the doctor, who dug in eagerly.

"This is amazing, Jim! Seriously."

The mastermind grinned.

"Well, since this was the first time we'd had a romp at your place, which was lovely by the way, I thought it only appropriate I make you breakfast." A pout briefly took over his face. "Granted, I'd intended to do breakfast in bed and have round two as dessert…but Sherlock distracted me."

"Well, I always say it's never too late to go back to bed…"

JWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJM

Sherlock flung the tails of his coat backwards as he crouched next to the victim and Lestrade couldn't help but roll his eyes. Really? Did he have to be so bloody dramatic about everything? A glance sideways at John revealed the doctor to be having similar thoughts, if his bemused grin was anything to go by.

"She's divorced…twice now, but still looking for husband number three. Public accountant in a steady relationship. He treats her badly but she never says anything. I'd say they've been together…8 months. She was thinking about marriage. He was thinking about the girl at the local pub. He was planning to leave her. Find the boyfriend. He's who did it. Honestly, I don't know why you even bothered to call me."

Lestrade grit his teeth, his earlier amusement long gone.

"Maybe it's your sparkling personality. How do you know the boyfriend did it?"

They all jumped at the voice that descended from the heavens.

"Oh, come now. It's obvious."

Grinning down at them from a fire escape was none other than Jim Moriarty. Great. This was just what Lestrade bloody needed. He didn't get paid enough for this.

"Thought I'd drop by. Hi~!"

The prat had the nerve to do a little finger wave down at them. Sherlock was probably the first to get over the shock, but since he chose to ignore the man and turn back to his phone, John will get the credit for the fastest recovery.

"Jim? What are you doing here? And why are you up the fire escape?"

Here Sherlock did interject, but only with a long-suffered huff, the same one he gave when someone missed something he found particularly obvious. Jim, on the other hand, remained his chipper self.

"I came to see you of course! I was in the neighborhood on some other business and decided it'd be nice to stop by! Obviously, the police wouldn't have let me through the tape so I had to take the roof!" Here he turned his focus to the detective inspector, face serious. "I'm afraid your officers have a severe security problem. Anyone could get into this crime scene."

"Yeah. I can see that…"

"Might want to get it looked into then. Sorry. I know Sherlock is the police consultant but what can I say? I love helping people and some habits can be so hard to break…"

Swinging down from his perch, the man landed deftly before them. He wasted no time in giving John a 'hello' peck on the lips. Donovan, who had until that moment been standing there slack jawed, like most of them, chose that moment to regain her voice.

"Oh, no. As if one freak wasn't bad enough. What is it with you, Watson? Did you put an ad in the paper or something? Or do freaks usually just flock to you?"

Lestrade saw how both men instantly stiffened, Jim probably even more so than John. He closed his eyes and wished for not the first time that his sergeant would learn when to just keep that damn mouth shut. As Jim turned to face the woman, his smile did nothing to diminish the threatening aura around him.

"You must be Sergeant Sally Donovan…I believe congratulations are in order." A pause. "You have just landed yourself on a very short list of individuals I would happily kill with my own hands…Lucky for you, Johnny-boy here disapproves of such behavior. Otherwise, rest assured I would have no problem with gutting you like the pig you are. Next time you think about attempting to insult my John…Don't."

Silence reigned in the alley as Jim glared in the direction of the offending woman. Lestrade didn't know what to do. Technically, he'd just threatened an officer, but what was the point of arresting the man? With his connections he'd be out of jail and in the wind in no time. Besides, Donavan did have it coming. Sherlock only glanced up briefly from his mobile during the whole exchange.

"Really, Jim, you shouldn't acknowledge them. It's like feeding the animals, it only encourages their bad behavior." Pocketing his phone he swept past the stunned officers and held up the tape at the edge of the scene. "I think we're done here. John and I were going for lunch at Angelo's. Care to join us, Jim?"

Like a flash, the energetic, sing-song Irishman was back. He linked his fingers with John's and tugged the doctor forward.

"Love to."

There were just turning to leave when Sherlock himself turned back and pierced Donovan with a glare.

"Oh, and one more thing, sergeant, my sex life does not depend on John's approval of my actions. I suggest you keep that in mind whenever you open your mouth next."

JWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJW JMJWJMJWJM

"I have a surprise for you."

John looked up from his computer to see Jim bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. It was moments like these he sometimes forgot just what the man was capable of. The two had been going out for a little over six months now and it had gotten to the point where Jim was spending more and more time at Baker St. Lestrade didn't even seem surprised anymore when he would burst through the door and find two consulting geniuses instead of one. (He did, however, seem grateful that Jim didn't tend to take much interest in the cases.)

"What is it?"

"I can't tell you."

Jim instead pulled the doctor out of his chair and began ushering him out of the flat.

"It won't be ready for a few hours, so you'll have to leave. Don't worry! Seb is waiting out front. He's going to take you to the shooting range so you can bond over manly things and war stories or some such. He's been talking about it all week!"

John's eyebrows rose at this. Apparently, this was a pretty big surprise if he was being forced to leave the flat for it. Sebastian was, indeed, waiting for him on Baker St, which was probably a good thing since Jim had all but slammed the door after shoving him through it. The Colonel's smirk told John that he was apparently the only one out of the loop.

"Any chance I'm going to get you to tell me what's going on?"

"Not a chance, Captain. I'm afraid I signed a non-disclosure agreement when Jim hired me."

John just rolled his eyes at the joke and gestured for them to get going. On the plus side, going to the shooting range was never a disappointing turn of events. He could always use the extra practice.

Hours later, exhausted and satisfied with their day, John and Sebastian returned to Baker St. It had been nice to catch up with each other without the added pressure of Jim or Sherlock calling one of them away at any given moment. Moran had been impressed by how much skill John still displayed with a handgun, a high compliment from an army sniper. They'd swapped only war stories and reminisced about the mischief they'd gotten up to in their army days. (Like the time Moran had dyed a cadet blue or when John hidden all of his commanding officer's shoes.) All in all, John had almost completely forgotten about Jim's promised surprise.

Sherlock was lounging on the couch when the two entered, typing away on John's computer. It looked like he hadn't moved in hours. John headed for the kitchen and gestured towards the chairs, indicating Moran should take one.

"Care for a cuppa?"

"Sure. I'll be able to stick around for a bit longer before heading back to work. Can't trust those monkeys to get anything done without me."

The two laughed, Moran having spent some of their time together griping about the incompetence of several of the individuals working for him. ("And so then he tells me he didn't even look at the file to know who the target was!") John fixed their teas and they talked amiably for several minutes before Sherlock snapped the computer shut and stood, turning to look at John very seriously.

"Mrs. Hudson was looking for you."

"Um, okay? Do you know what she wanted?"

The genius shrugged, still towering over the seated man as though he were ready to leave at any moment. (Which was ridiculous because he was still in his dressing gown…but John had seen him go out in worse.)

"She needed your help with something, seemed rather urgent."

"Uh, alright then."

John shrugged and stood. Obviously, Sherlock wanted him to find out what Mrs. Hudson needed help with immediately. Otherwise, he probably wouldn't have even gotten the message. Moran stood with him and soon the three were outside Mrs. Hudson's door, the small hallway starting to feel decidedly crowded. The landlady opened the door almost immediately.

"Oh, John, dear! I didn't hear you come back!" She sent a quick glance at Sherlock who nodded tightly. "I was wondering if I could get you to take a look at something for me."

Alright, now John was starting to get suspicious. This behavior was definitely odd. Just what were these two up to? None the less, he dutifully followed Mrs. Hudson to the door of 221C, listening as she prattled on about how much help he always was. Sherlock and Moran still trailed behind.

The flat was dark when he stepped inside, something he remembered from his last visit, too. His hand groped the wall in an attempt to find the switch. Shuffling behind him told him the others were following him in. Flipping the lights on, he was momentarily blinded. He blinked rapidly to regain his sight.

"What…"

221C had been completely transformed. The previously dank, basement-like flat had new floors and the walls had been repapered. The whole place smelled of dark wood and leather. One entire wall had been converted into bookshelves, all full. In the middle of the room, sipping a cup of tea and relaxing on the leather couch as though he'd always been there, was Jim Moriarty.

"Do you like it?"

"Jim, what is this?"

Through the doorway at the other end of the room, John could make out the kitchen. It was completely renovated and state of the art. How the Hell had Jim managed this in one day? The man in questing set his tea down before coming over to join them. It struck him that the others had to have been in on this…Sherlock had been in on this.

"Do you remember our conversation two weeks ago? I asked you to move in." John nodded, not sure where this was going. He'd told Jim no. He'd wanted to move in with the man, but he couldn't leave Sherlock. "Well, this is my compromise!" He gestured around the flat.

"You're moving in here?"

A nod.

"To Baker Street?"

Another nod.

"Jim, I…"

The mastermind's grin was starting to slip. His question was clear on his face. 'I thought you'd be happy. Why aren't you happy?' Sherlock, though, had apparently had enough.

"Oh, for God's sake…Jim will take 221C and you'll continue living with me upstairs. You two will be able to continue your foolish displays of sentiment without the inconvenience of have to trek half-way across London when one of you has to go home. Just shut up and kiss him already, John."

While the doctor wasn't normally one to take Sherlock's advice, he thought now would be a good time to do just that. His grin was nearly splitting his face when he finally gave Jim the room to breath.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Sherlock just rolled his eyes and scoffed.

"Sentiment."


	8. Gone-Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of drama and action...because I'd hate not to keep you on your toes.

"I'm glad we did this. Honestly, it's been great being about to spend time with someone who _gets it._ "

John raised his pint to clink with Moran's in a toast. He couldn't agree with the colonel's sentiment more. Dealing with both Sherlock and Jim was…overwhelming at times, especially when the two were together. John figured Moran was the only person who understood the pains of the day to day. (That wasn't to say he didn't love both geniuses, one as a best friend and the other as quite a bit more.)

"To making it through another day."

"And making sure our geniuses do, too."

John snorted into his pint at that.

"The saddest part is that the biggest danger comes from themselves! Did I tell you about the time I had to save Sherlock from drowning? In the _bathtub._ "

"Oh, God. Don't tell me it was another one of his experiments."

"When is it anything _but_ one of his experiments?"

Moran smiled and made a 'go ahead' gesture.

"Alright, so I've spent the last 10 hours filling in at the clinic because not one but two doctors have called out. There's been a rash of the flu and every parent in London has brought their child in. I have dealt with irate parents, handled screaming children, and been thrown up on four times. All I want is a nice, quiet evening."

"Good luck with that," the mercenary muttered, to which John couldn't help but agree.

"Well, I get back to the flat and at first, I think there's nobody home, right? I call out to Sherlock, who's usually sulking in the living room, but I don't get a response. It was odd, cause if he'd gotten a case, he would have come to the clinic and dragged me into it, it wouldn't have been the first time. But I decide, hey, why look gift horses in the mouth?"

"He's really come to the clinic? What does he say? 'Oh, sorry. I've got to borrow Dr. Watson for a bit, seems there's been an axe murder in Sussex and I know he'd _hate_ to miss out.'"

John snorted again. At this rate, he was going to end up with his pint coming out of his nose, an embarrassment he hadn't suffered since Uni.

"Nothing so straightforward, though I wouldn't put it past him. He keeps coming up with these ridiculous stories. One time, he said my great aunt had died by being eaten by otters and he had to make sure I didn't hear about it on the news."

"Eaten? By otters?"

John had his head in his hands, unable to even look Moran in the eye.

"I was getting sympathy flowers from my coworkers for two weeks. They still avoid using the word 'otter' around me. Sebastian, I don't even _have_ a great aunt."

Now Sebastian was laughing, much to John's further misery. Once he'd calmed down, he grinned cheekily at his former captain.

"Alright, so Sherlock wasn't at the flat when you got back."

"He didn't _seem_ to be. I didn't realize he was there until I went to take a shower and found him face down in the tub, which had about an inch of water in it. This is not to mention the fact that the entire bloody bathroom is covered in _nail polish._ "

"…you're joking."

"Believe me, I wish I were. Apparently, he'd decided to test how many bottles of nail polish it would take to get someone high enough to lose all awareness. He was barely conscious when I pulled him out of the tub. Not twenty seconds later, though, he'd all aware and hyper. He tried to use the nail polish as face paint."

Now Moran was laughing again, John right along with him. The blonde went on to explain Sherlock's very single-minded determination to paint all of John's hair pink because, 'it would make him look pretty and he had to be pretty to meet the Queen.' (The Queen, John later found out, was Mycroft, who had told Sherlock that morning he would be stopping by.)

By this point, tears were in the gunman's eyes and the pair were getting looks from the other patrons. Desperately trying to get ahold of themselves, the two attempted to smother their laughter behind their hands. Several minutes later, Moran grinned toothily at his friend.

"Have I told you about the time Jim spent three days convinced that there was a plot by his enemies to kill him using rubber duckies?"

"Like the bath toy?"

And so they went for the next several hours, trading stories back and forth. It reminded John fondly of when he would get together with the other veterans he knew and they would talk about Afghanistan. He liked this a little better, though, because it gave him things to tease Jim about later.

Their fun came to an end, though, when a red headed man burst into the pub. He was well built, clearly used to being in altercations. After a quick sweep of the room with his eyes, he headed straight for their table. Moran had tensed the moment the man had entered the room, losing any hint of cheer that's previously been displayed on his face. In response, John shifted his weight so as to be ready for a fight. However, the man stopped several feet from their table and addressed Moran.

"Uh, sir, I hate to say this but there was a, uh, security breech at the meeting."

If the mercenary hadn't been tense before, he sure as hell was now. It did nothing to ease John's own tension. What meeting?

"What exactly do you mean, a 'security breech'?"

These were the moments when John remembered exactly what it was his friend did for a living. His face was all hard lines and savage fury, his eyes promising pain if he didn't get the answers he was looking for. The red head shifted nervously, an oddity, when coupled with his bulky figure and previously intimidating air.

"Well, um, sir, it seems the, uh, negotiations didn't go quite as, well, planned."

Sebastian's eyes narrowed and he slapped some notes down on the table, plenty enough to cover both his own and John's tab.

"Outside. Now."

Clearly, Moran was done with this man's poor excuse for subtlety. He needed straight answers and he needed them now. John couldn't say he felt much different. It didn't take a genius to realize that something had gone south with one of Jim's…projects and, knowing Jim, he was right in the middle of it. The group moved out of the pub and into the back alley, specifically chosen for its lack of CCTV. Once they were out of the public eye, Sebastian rounded on his employee.

"I'm going to ask one last time. What exactly do you mean, a _'security breech'_?"

"The meeting was set up exact how you said, sir! I did everything you taught me, I swear! We had men on every entry and had three snipers in the rafters! But they overwhelmed us! There were three of them to every one of us! Only three of us even made it out of there!"

Now Moran was deathly still.

"Where's Jim?"

"W-well, I…"

"Marcus, where the _fuck_ is _Jim?!_ "

 _That_ caught John's attention.

"I-I don't know! His body wasn't with the others that got left behind! I think they must have taken him with them! I came as soon as I could!"

"What?"

For the first time, the red head seemed to notice John's presence, being too previously focused on suffering his superior's wrath. He should have known better than to think Moran was the biggest threat.

"His _body?_ "

Suddenly, the doctor was gone and the only John Watson standing in that alley was the soldier, the killer, the crack shot. He'd once told Sherlock that he had bad days. Suffice it to say he was now having a _very_ bad day. The henchman glanced at Sebastian as if to ask who John was, but the mercenary only had eyes for the blonde. He knew that look from when he'd been in John's unit back in Afghanistan.

John nailed the man, Marcus, down with a cold glare that could have peeled flesh right off of bone.

"Tell me everything. _**Now.**_ "

And Marcus did.

The meeting had been in the works for only a couple days, as it was in response to a hurried message from one of the groups Jim had previously been involved with, a human trafficking ring from South Africa. They'd been one of the projects Jim had dropped after establishing a relationship with John. Though the man hadn't pulled out of the crime circuit and was still, without a doubt, the king of the underworld, he'd stopped supporting many of his less savory clients since he'd known John wouldn't approve.

Many of these clients, though, had been less than please to learn that Jim would no longer be there to help them. Some had quickly declared their intention to end the man. (A declaration which meant that they, themselves, were quickly ended instead.) Instead of such petty threats, this particular client had asked for a meeting with Jim to make a case to keep his support.

More due to sheer boredom than anything else, Jim had agreed. He never had any intention of giving them back his support, but it would help fill and hour or so of his day. Moran had been against the idea of not being there for the meeting, but Jim had insisted it would be fine. Instead, the mastermind had pushed him to go out with John, leaving his own safety in clearly incompetent hands.

The group had made their move as soon as it was confirmed that Jim was actually at the meeting. Sacrificing the men they had inside, the trafficking ring had agents storm the building, killing anyone they came across. Though no one had actually seen the abduction, Jim was out of contact and hadn't been seen since the incident. The entire warehouse had been searched and there was still no sign of him.

As the tale came to a close, Moran shot a glance at John and almost had to take a step back. He'd never seen the normally easy going man look so…ferocious, not even back during the war. The hardened criminal/soldier/sniper couldn't stop the shiver of fear that ran down his spine. He could only be relieved that the terrifying anger wasn't directed at him. Marcus, however, wasn't so lucky…

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"What the hell do you mean, you won't help?"

Jim and John stood in the living room of 221B Baker St, having left behind a thoroughly traumatized Marcus. Really, the man would probably never fully recover. Perhaps under different circumstances, Moran would have felt sorry for him, but as things stood…

Sherlock just glared at the two from over his microscope, completely ignoring John's anger.

"I would have thought it was obvious. I mean I have no intention of running about the city looking for Jim when I absolutely must get these samples analyzed. A man's alibi depends on it, John. Frankly, I don't see what there is to be upset about, anyway."

"No, of course not! It's only that Jim's bloody missing and God knows what is happening to him! I thought you two were finally getting along!"

At this point, Mrs. Hudson appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Now what's all this yelling about, then? I don't think I've ever heard you two have such a row!"

John took a deep breath and closed his eyes before trying to explain the situation to the older woman. The last thing he needed to do right now was snap at her.

"Jim is in danger, life threatening danger. He disappeared a few hours ago when a business meeting went south. No one has seen or heard from his since and Sherlock refuses to help."

"Sherlock!"

"Oh, come on!" The detective's entire body exuded exasperation. "This whole thing is ridiculous! These samples are important!" He glared at them petulantly, as though they were inconveniencing him on purpose, just for the sake of it.

"Sherlock _Joseph_ Holmes!"

Everyone in the room jumped. None of them had ever heard such a…reprehending tone from the landlady before. Even Sherlock looked askance, though that may have been due to the use of his middle name. Hands on hips, Mrs. Hudson stared down the genius and made it clear that there would be no arguments against her.

"I have seen you do a lot of selfish things, but this is just too far! I have never seen you turn your back on someone in need and now you are doing it for some soil samples? I am _ashamed_ of you!"

"But-"

"Don't you 'but' me! Jim needs you, Sherlock, and, so help me, you are going to help! Don't make me get rid of your skull!"

Now Sherlock was on his feet, too.

"Jim wouldn't want my help!" The other three paused. "Obviously, he's been kidnapped by one of his disgruntled ex-clients. If he was worried about what might happen, he wouldn't have allowed his security to be run by some second-rate henchman."

"But something _did_ happen."

"Yes, yes, John, but not something he was worried about. The kidnappers obviously aren't planning to kill him straight out, that much is clear right off the bat. Besides, there's nothing Jim would love more than you riding off to save him, even from some petty excuse for a criminal like this. Really, it should be easy enough for the two of you to solve on your own."

As he talked, the man had moved across the room and was now holding his skull protectively to his chest, as though to shield it. He sniffed haughtily.

"Now, why don't you two go do something useful and take a look and the crime scene like good white knights? I'm sure that will turn up something to help you along."

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John had to admit, even without Jim around to tell them what to do, his organization moved with impressive efficiency. When he and Sebastian arrived at the warehouse in which the meeting was supposed to take place, it looked just like any of the others in the area. A team had come and removed all traces of blood and bodies. Initially, John had worried that this clean up could affect the integrity of the scene, but Moran assured him that they knew how to get the job done without disturbing anything else.

Several members of Jim's network still hung around in the area, keeping an eye out for any enemies who might stupidly return to the scene and making sure John and Sebastian were safe. None of them really knew who John was, but it was instantly clear that he was someone of great importance. Hell, even Moran deferred to him.

The two ex-soldiers circled the area, inside and out, looking for any sign of what might have happened. It was John to found the first clue. He immediately shouted for Moran, who showed up moments later. Scuff marks in the dirt showed where a body was dragged, but the pattern made it clear that it wasn't without a struggle. About ten yards down the path, they found a silver cufflink in a clump of weeds.

It was definitely Jim's.

They kept up the search for a few more feet and found tire treads, leading out of the alley and onto the road. Looking up, John caught site of a CCTV camera pointed down the alley, with the perfect angle to catch the vehicle's plates.

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"Dr. Watson, what a pleasure to hear from you."

"Hello, Mycroft. I'm afraid this isn't a social call."

"Of course not. Surely if you were just looking for someone to chat with, you wouldn't have called _me._ Tell me, what has my brother done now?"

"Actually, this isn't about your brother, either."

"Ah, Jim, then? I suppose you want access to the CCTV footage."

"How did-Actually, never mind. I don't want to know. Will you give us access? I need the camera from Dromage Street."

"To be honestly, Dr. Watson, I see absolutely no reason why I should…"

"What? I don't know, maybe because we need your help?"

"Jim Moriarty is a very dangerous man and there is no love lost between the two of us. Personally, I think the world would be a much safer place were something to happen to him."

"You _bloody sod-_ "

"Hello? This is Moran. It's seems you've upset John."

"Yes, it would seem so."

"I don't much like that, and neither would my employer."

"From the sound of things, your employer isn't someone I really need to be worrying about much longer."

"Ah, I see. You're more like us than you probably like to believe, Mr. Holmes."

"Nonsense."

"No, it's true. John doesn't get how men like us work, how our worlds operate. Tell me, Mr. Holmes, what do you think of the value of a favor? Because helping save his life...Well, Jim could end up owing you a pretty big one, couldn't he?"

"…You'll have your footage within the hour."

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The still shot Mycroft had sent them was of a white paneled van, license plate clearly visible. Moran had sent the plate number to one of his people and five minutes later they had a name and address. Though John had recognized the name, he didn't realize he actually knew the van's owner until the door to the townhouse they were in front of opened.

"Dr. Watson? What are you doing here?"

The woman was small and mousy, gray haired but colored with blonde. She wore a yellow dress and had on an apron, obviously in the middle of baking. She and her husband were regulars at the clinic and the van was his work truck. John had to have seen it a dozen times.

"Mrs. McCarthy, I'm so sorry to intrude. Is Richard in? We really need to speak with him."

At the question, she seemed to deflate. Stepping back from the door, she motioned them inside.

"I haven't seen Rich since late last night. I'm afraid he's turned back to that filth drug again!"

Tears brimmed in her eyes and John instinctively moved to comfort her. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he guided her to sit on the over-stuffed sofa in the living room. He sat beside her and Moran took the armchair opposite, trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible. They shared a look over Mrs. McCarthy's head before John turned back to his patient.

"Tell me exactly what happened. What makes you think he's gone back?"

"We were getting ready for bed last night when Rich gets this phone call. I couldn't make out what was being said, but the voice on the other end sounded scary, real deep and gravely. The conversation couldn't have lasted more than a few minutes and then Rich said he had to go! I asked him why, but he wouldn't tell me! He just told me there was something he had to do and I wouldn't understand. Oh, Dr. Watson, he tried so hard to get clean the first time, I don't understand why he would go back! And he was scared! I could tell!"

She put her face in her hands, quietly crying, and John rubbed gentle circles on his back. He'd always been good at comforting people. Moran, on the other hand, looked distinctly uncomfortable just being in the same room as a crying woman.

"Mrs. McCarthy, do you have any idea where he could have gone? Did he mention a part of town or anything?"

Wiping her eyes and standing, the woman grabbed a pad of paper from beside the phone. Handing it to John, he saw an address written on blue ball point.

"He pressed down so hard when he was writing it that it was easy to do over what he'd written. I wanted to make sure I had it in case….well, in case I needed it. You'll help him, won't you, Dr. Watson? Rich has always been so fond of you. I know he'll listen to you!"

"I'll do the best I can."

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A quick search among Jim's contacts revealed the address to belong to a seedy warehouse. In truth, it was only a cover for a hardcore drug and prostitution club. It was the kind of place where anything went and no one asked where the girls came from…or where they went. John didn't understand why an average middle aged man, even one suffering from a drug addiction, would go to such a place. There were much easier, safer ways to get ahold of a fix. And how did it lead to his van being used in Jim's kidnapping?

With one last glance up and down the empty street, John and Sebastian entered the drug den. It was almost 4 in the afternoon by the time they had managed to find the place. Even the front room was filled with smoke and John had to fight back a grimace at the thought of what the rest of the establishment must be like. There was a single door on the opposite wall, a guard stationed on either side. Neither spoke as they approached, but it was clear John and Moran wouldn't just be allowed through.

"Keith sent us, sends his regards. He said he can't wait for the game on Tuesday. It should be quite a show."

The guards nodded and pushed a button by the door, sending the message through to unlock it. It was luckily they'd found someone in Jim's network with the current passcode for the den or they would have had to force their way in, which could have gone quite poorly. Passing through the door, John had to force down a horrified expression at the underworld they had crossed into.

Ratty, stained furniture was scattered about the room, about a dozen or so forms were scattered across them. Many of the room's occupants appeared almost boneless, clearly in the grips of some drug or another, most likely heroin. A burly man drifted throughout the large room, keeping an eye on the addicts and collecting any stray needles. With him was a small man carrying an old doctor's bag, obviously the drug supplier for this venue. The body guard cast a wary eye over John and Moran, neither of them carried themselves like they were seeking a fix.

Ignoring the man, John let his eyes sweep the room in search of Richard. It didn't take long to find the man huddled in an armchair covered with stains he didn't even want to think about. A needle was clutched in one hand, but the doctor was glad to see it was full. If the man was sober, it'd be much easier to get information out of him.

He moved across the room, letting Moran cut off the bodyguard as he approached. They'd both agreed that violence should be a last resort, but neither would be shy about using it if necessary. Distantly, John heard Moran launch into a lecture, reprimanding the man about the lack of security. Coupled with his natural air of authority, it was seconds before the drug dealer and the guard were eating out of his hands.

John crouched in front of Richard, drawing his attention for the first time. Surprise and confusion colored the man's face and his hand jerked as if you hide the needle. It took only a moment for John to ease it from his grasp.

"Dr. Watson?"

"Your wife is worried about you, Richard."

"How did you find me?"

"You didn't exactly do a very good job of keeping it a secret. Martha was able to copy the indentions left by your pen on the notepad by the phone. I thought you wanted to stay clean."

"I did…I never wanted to turn back to this life, but he…He said I didn't have a choice."

"The man on the phone? Who is he?"

Richard just shook his head, eyes darting to where John and lay the needle on the floor. John shifted to block his view of it.

"Richard, I need you to listen to me. I need your help?"

The surprise and confusion were back, sharper now.

"My help? With what?"

"Your car was used in a crime earlier today."

Now Richard jerked back as though he had suffered a physical blow, eyes wide and head shaking.

"I didn't want to! You have to believe me! I never knew what they wanted until they dragged that man into the back of my van! Please, Dr. Watson!" He was leaning forward again, as if the proximity would give his please more power.

"So you were driving?"

The ex-junkie's eyes darted around the room, lingering on the bulky man still talking to Moran. His shoulders shook from need for the drug and obvious fear. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

"Richard, I need you to tell me what you know."

"I-I can't!"

"Look at me, Richard." Reluctantly, the man did. "That man who they dragged into your van? His name is Jim."

Richard moaned and shook his head. He didn't want to hear this, but John was unrelenting. Richard was no criminal and he could only hope an appeal to his humanity would help.

"Jim is one of the most important people in my life. Remember when I told you and Martha I had met someone during your last check up? That was Jim."

The older man's eyes were shiny with tears and he was muttering denials.

"I love him, Richard. Please, help me."

The denials had turned to apologies.

"I'm so sorry, Dr. Watson! I'm so sorry! I didn't know! I would never have done it! Please, please forgive me!"

"It's alright, Richard. Just tell me what you know."

"I got a call last night, just before Martha and I went to bed. It was my old dealer. I don't even know how he got my number since we moved! I cut all ties with this life after you helped me get clean! He gave me this address and told me if I didn't show up here, he'd show up at my house. I remember the things he used to do to people, Dr. Watson! I didn't want anything to happen to my wife!"

"So you came."

A nod.

"He said he needed my van. The caged off portion in the back was perfect for a collection he had to make. God, I thought he meant some kind of animal!"

"But he didn't. What happened?"

"He had me drive him and two other men to the alley. He said to wait where I was until they got back or my wife would be getting an unexpected visit. I almost bolted when I heard all the gunfire, but I was too scared! A couple of minutes later, he and one of the other men came back, dragging someone between them. At first I thought it was the third guy, but it wasn't…"

"It was Jim."

Richard nodded, not meeting John's eye. It was obvious he was riddled with guilt. John tried to put on an encouraging face, even though hearing this was killing him, and used his best soothing doctor's voice.

"What did they do next, put Jim in the cage?"

"Y-yeah. He struggled at first, but my dealer he…he struck him in the head with his pistol. He didn't move much after that…"

"Did you come back here?"

"No. They had me take him to a place in Bilmonte, near the river. I didn't go in, but they left me out in the van for a few minutes before coming back to get the man. He was awake again by that point, but they gave him some sort of injection. I don't know what it was, but he wasn't fighting after that. It worked fast, too. Too fast to be heroin."

John nodded now, trying to calculate what drugs they may have used. He was no Sherlock, though, and the answers were too numerous for him to even begin to sort through. His only comfort was that if they had gone through so much trouble to kidnap Jim, they weren't likely to kill him…yet.

"Dr. Watson? When that man, Jim…well, when we were in the van alone together, he talked to me."

That got John's attention. Had Jim somehow picked up on John's connection to this man? He knew the man didn't have the same deductive skills as Sherlock, but he was a genius, too, after all. Maybe there was some sign and he tried to send a message.

"What'd he say?"

"It was…odd. He started chuckling almost as soon as the others had left the van. He said he worried about the incompetence of his kidnappers if they had to resort to blackmailing an amateur like me into helping. I don't even know how he knew!"

Despite the situation, John had to crack a smile at that. It was classic Jim. He just hoped he had the sense to keep such comments to himself in front of the actual kidnappers…not that he thought it was likely.

"He got really serious then, which almost scared me more than the gunfire. I mean, who can just turn everything off like that? I felt like I was paralyzed by his stare. He told me I shouldn't worry about it, which really surprised me. He said he had his own white knight coming for him. I think he meant you."

John's heart constricted painfully. If anything were to happen to Jim…he couldn't even think it. He needed to distract himself.

"Why did you come back here?"

Now Richard looked ashamed, dropping his gaze.

"I just wanted to forget everything…"

John glanced down at the full needle on the ground.

"You didn't take any of it, though. You were strong. C'mon, let's get you out of here. Do you think you can find that building again?"

Richard nodded as John helped him to his feet. He noted Moran glancing in their direction. He wouldn't be able to keep this façade up for long. They needed to get out of their quickly, before things got out of hand. Moran had a team outside, but he really didn't want to have to resort to that.

"Of course. I'll never be able to forget where it is." Richard grabbed John by the shoulders and turned to look at him, grip suddenly strong, gaze determined. "There's something you need to know. When those men came back, they told Jim he'd fetch a high price and to stop fighting so they didn't have to damage the merchandise. Dr. Watson, I think they mean to sell him."

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The building Richard led them to was plain, cement from the outside. It looked completely unremarkable and just like every other one on the street. It was a brilliant camouflage. Moran began putting teams in place all around the building, calling in every favor he could think of to try and get information. It was just past 11pm when they finally got everything set and heard news back from Moran's favors.

The building belonged to the organization Jim had abandoned, the same one who he was supposed to meet with. It was one of their most brutal establishments and this was only its most recent location, since the exact building changed with every 'event,' as they liked to call them.

Their specialty was allowing customers to purchase death. They kidnapped individuals from all over the world, mostly young, good looking individuals, and brought them out one at a time. The crowd would then compete in an auction style for who would have the honor of deciding how that individual died. It was an establishment where anything went and it was all fair game. As far as Moran knew, Jim had never even known about this side business.

The news didn't comfort John in the slightest. The contact who had given them the information also gave them the access code to get in. Security would be much tighter than it had been at the drug den they'd visited earlier.

He also left them with a final word of caution. The group had been advertising a special event to start at midnight. It was supposedly bigger than anything else they'd done before and they were being extremely close lipped as to the details. It would be almost exclusively their top clients and security would be even tighter than usual.

Sometimes, John wondered if things could ever possibly get crazier than his life.

Getting through security was nerve wracking. There were armed guards all over the place and each patron was given a pat down. The security code was entered into a data pad on the wall before anyone could be admitted into the inner chamber.

John was surprised to find that the inside was actually rather…upscale. Most of the patrons were in tuxes or long formal dresses, though there were still those in jeans. He was suddenly glad Moran had convinced him to change into black cargo pants and a tight-fitting black t-shirt. He would have stood out like a sore thumb with his sweater. Gorgeous women in short black dresses moved throughout the crowd with trays of champagne and leather and suede seating areas were scattered about.

There seemed to be a stage of some sort set up against one wall, a curtain concealing much of it from view. The majority of the patrons milled about in this area. Going closer, they saw a girl on stage, late teens, early twenties with light blonde hair and pale skin. She leaned heavily on the well-built man beside her and seemed to be staring off into the middle distance. With a jolt, John realized she must be drugged. A second man seemed to be running an auction with members of the crowd holding up their drinks in order to place their bid.

She was being _sold._

It was only Moran's hand on his arm that kept the former army doctor from rushing up on stage and dragging the girl out of there. The other man leaned close so he could speak directly into John's ear.

"Remember why we are here. If you want to hunt these bastards down later, that is fine. But we can't risk tipping them off to our purpose. Besides, it's unlikely they'll kill her now. They wouldn't want to spoil the main event."

Begrudgingly, John had to admit the logic in that. He cast a look around the room and almost swore when he saw a familiar face headed their way. Moran instantly looked the same direction, nerves on high alert. Coming to a stop in front of the pair, Sherlock frowned at them.

"Honestly, I don't know what took you so long. You almost didn't make it in time and then I'd have to deal with this whole thing myself. Do you have any idea how irritating that would be? I've been here almost three hours already. This place is _boring._ Oh, don't give me that look, John. I've already texted Lestrade. He'll be ready to move on this place as soon as we've completed our objective."

John's jaw just hung open. Moran glared.

"I thought you said you weren't helping."

Sherlock shrugged.

"I like my skull. Besides, those soil samples have to culture on their own, can't be disturbed. Now, there are a couple things I'm _sure_ you haven't noticed."

As Sherlock talked them through a number of tactical advantages and disadvantages of the establishment, John kept a careful eye on the stage. Watching people being sold while he was just a few yards away just didn't sit well with him, especially knowing they were being sold to their deaths. Glancing at his watch, he noticed it was only a few minutes till midnight. It'd taken longer to get through security than he'd though.

The blonde girl on stage was dragged away and the auctioneer stepped to the center stage. He didn't have to call out for the patrons to gather round. Everyone was clearly eager to find out what this special event was all about.

"Now, then, I am sure you are all ready for main event! We have ourselves a special prize tonight! This one might not be for romancing, but I'm sure you can find some use for him! It is my pleasure to introduce the one and only consulting criminal, Jim Moriarty!"


	9. Gone-Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Jim's perspective!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it has taken me a bit longer than usual to get this out. School just started back and I've been busier than usual. I will try and keep updates regular from here on out!

Jim Moriarty didn't think his day could possibly get any more boring. He couldn't even remember why he had agreed to this boring business meeting. The human trafficking ring had been irritating enough to deal with when he was getting something out of it. Now that he'd dropped them, he would probably just spend the entire time listening to their whining. Why had he ever thought this might be interesting? It made his earlier efforts seem hardly worth it.

As far as criminals went, they were far from inventive, though it didn't make them any less dangerous. The only upside of their particular business was how extremely lucrative it was. Kidnapping people and selling them cost much less than when one had to create drugs or acquire weapons. The only reason he had stuck with them as long as he did was because he could take the funds and channel them into other, more consuming projects. He knew the power of good investments. The other plus side of the arrangement was that he could predominantly ignore the organization as a whole while raking in the paycheck, only stepping in when they had gotten themselves into trouble.

It didn't make the situation any better that Moran wasn't there to at least provide him with a modicum of entertainment, though that, too, was a necessary sacrifice. True, Jim had been the one to push him towards spending the day with John, but that had been more for the blonde's benefit than his own. After all, Jim was no fool. He knew he wasn't an easy person to deal with. He was so changeable~! It would be good for John to be able to take a bit of a break. After all, not even John Watson could handle both Jim Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes indefinitely. Besides, he felt better with Seb looking after John.

This brought him back to his current situation. He sighed as he gazed at the large building in front of him. It was an old warehouse, something this organization had a penchant for. Peeling paint on the side declared that it had once been used for meat packing, which would explain the smell. From where he stood beside his car, Jim could see four of his men, though he knew more were about the area. One of the men broke away and approached him.

Though great in combat and more daring than most, Marcus Shaw was much more a follower than a leader in Jim's eyes. He'd left the large man in charge during Seb's absence to see how he might handle the responsibility, but he honestly didn't have very high hopes. Part of him even hoped something would go horribly wrong. At least then he'd have something to _do._ That is, of course, as long as that something happened here. A scoff from beside him indicated his companion was of a similar opinion. Marcus was almost to them, though, so there was no time to commiserate.

"All units are in position, sir. We have three snipers in the area covering quadrants A, B, and C. Two men each are coving the entryways and we have another five men covering various streets in the area."

"Answer me this, if you would, Shaw…if there are four quadrants, as would be implied by them being _quad_ rants, why are there only _three_ snipers?"

He savored the flicker of panic that came to life in his subordinate's eyes. Seeing that look never got old, he had to admit. Even if he'd given up some of his more unsavory habits for John, he'd always enjoy seeing that fear in someone's eyes. Luckily, John knew him well enough to know that and accepted his darker nature perhaps even more readily than many of Jim's past business associates. As long as Jim didn't involve innocents, John seemed most understanding. It was actually kind of…fascinating.

Marcus was stammering out some excuse or another but Jim just waved him off. The whole quadrants comment had just been to mess with him anyway. He did so love to watch other's squirm. Now, however, was not the time.

"Forget about it, not like there's anything to be done now. Let's just get this meeting over with."

Jim and his companion swept past the guard and into the warehouse, instantly taking stock of the two men standing in the middle of the open space and the four gunmen scattered about. The weapons were common at meetings such as this, and Jim figured the ones he could see weren't the only ones present. His companion leaned in close to confirm his thoughts.

"The one on the right is carrying a gun at his ankle and another on his hip. The one to the left is unarmed, but seems concerned about the time. He's already glanced at his watch twice. I expect there's an attack coming in seven, no, three minutes. Most likely, they wanted to confirm you would actually be here. The attack will come from the east, judging by how their own gunmen are arranged."

"Likely casualties?"

"They have an absolute disregard for their own men, so they will likely all die. Pawns are so often discarded early. Your men are seen as a challenge, but there is no outright malice. Obviously, you are the main target, but they will kill anyone that gets in their way. Judging by the how the one with the guns in holding himself, they want you alive. I expect your men outside will be attacked first, though the ones at the door have a greater chance of survival. I trust you have already warned them of the impending danger?"

Jim nodded.

"Stunning as always, Sherlock. I'm glad I brought you along. It seems like things are finally going to get fun around here."

"Anything to dull the boredom."

Jim slid a sideways grin at his companion, enjoying the genius they shared. There were so few others who were able to properly appreciate their talents. Besides, he'd needed judgments made on a moment's notice and there was no one in the world better suited for such things than Sherlock Holmes. They were going to absolutely have to play another game sometime soon, minus the endangered innocents, of course. At the very least, this little situation would keep him occupied for a short time.

It was the unarmed man who spoke first, still glancing at his watch a little too often.

"So glad you could make it, Mr. Moriarty. We were starting to get worried."

"What can I say? Traffic is terrible this time of day. It just makes you want to set off a bomb, doesn't it?"

Jim let his signature manic grin slip onto his face, feeling the undercurrent of fear that permeated the room. He knew the men in front of him weren't in charge of the smuggling ring, but it didn't diminish the satisfaction of insuring they would never, ever forget him. He strolled forward nonchalantly, indicating the warehouse in a sweeping gesture.

"Rather a gloomy place for a business meeting, don't you think? I've always preferred places with a little more…panache."

He knew his grand gestures and intimidating nature were the perfect distractions for Sherlock to slip away and deal with whatever he needed to. Really, no one could take their eyes off him if he didn't want them to. Jim didn't need to be a genius to know that John would never forgive him for getting his best friend killed and, if he were completely honest(a rare thing indeed), he'd be loath to lose his favorite play mate.

The man with the hidden guns glared at him as though taking a personal offence to the slight against the location. Really, people could be so touchy. Jim was almost glad with the knowledge that these two would likely soon die. He'd always hate those who felt they had the right to judge him. It was what had led him to kill Carl Powers all those years ago, back when he was just starting out and was still in school. It was the same case that had first brought Sherlock to him attention. Now wasn't the time to be getting distracted, though.

The unarmed man coughed and straightened, appearing for all the world ready to get down to business. Jim, however, knew all too well that he was stalling. At this point, it would be pointless to attempt to leave. The only course of action was to ride this out.

"Mr. Moriarty, sir, we requested this meeting to address that fact that you were considering withdrawing your support of our organization."

"Wrong in the first sentence! My, I think that may just be a record! You are obviously mistaken. I am not _considering_ withdrawing my support, I quite already _have._ My interests have moved in other directions, you could say."

"All the same, we feel that you may not have fully considered the ramifications of such a choice."

"Well, then, you obviously don't know me very well. I assure you, I've considered everything."

It was at this time that the gunfire started. As the sound cut through the air, Jim's sniper in the rafters set to work taking out the various men inside the warehouse. The attackers seemed to be approaching from the east and so Jim moved towards the western side of the building. It'd just be icing on the cake to disappear at this point and, really, John would kill him if he got shot.

The armed man had different ideas, though. He avoided the chaos in the rest of the warehouse to follow Jim, pulling a gun when he was only about five feet from the door.

"Not so fast, there. I don't think we're done talking." His speech patterns indicated at least a modicum of intelligence, so perhaps he was a bit more than just a hired gun. Still, he'd pulled a gun on Jim Moriarty and there could really only be one conclusion to that story.

Jim smiled as the bullet tore through his enemy's head. This was why it was so important to keep good snipers on the payroll. One must never underestimate their usefulness.

He didn't get to celebrate his victory for long, though, before the door behind him opened and he had a whole new batch of problems to deal with. Three men stood in the entryway, having already dispatched Jim's guards who's been stationed there. One's left arm was bleeding from what looked like a bullet graze, but otherwise they were all unharmed. The man in the middle, not the bleeding one and obviously the leader, had a gun leveled in his direction.

"Dan, get rid of that bloody sniper while we deal with this sod."

Jim merely arched an eyebrow at being referred to as a sod. He had to admit, that was a new one. Usually, the language used against him was so much more…colorful. The other uninjured man dashed off into the warehouse, gun of his own drawn. Jim fought back a smile at the thought that this man, too, would die. The sniper in the rafters was a man by the name of Spinner and he was one of the best. Spinner was American, ex-FBI, and the only one in Jim's employ who could rival Seb's skill with a rifle. Unfortunately, this cannon fodder would cause a distraction for at least a little while and the other two seemed intent of taking advantage.

Unfortunately for them, one didn't get to the top of the criminal food chain without learning a thing or two about close combat. As the men surged forward, Jim dropped one foot out behind him braced himself. The first on to reach him was the leader, who he promptly smashed in the nose with the flat of his palm. While blood dripped down his surprised face, Jim cupped both hands and slammed them over his ears, rupturing his eardrums and sending him reeling. Pivoting, he jumped out of the way of the other man's fist, narrowly avoiding a debilitating blow to the ribs.

The man reacted quickly, clearly the most proficient with hand to hand, bringing a foot forward to hook around Jim's ankle and yank him off his feet. Jim felt his breath leave him in a whoosh and his skull hit the cement painfully, no doubt getting dirty in his usually immaculate hair. He growled through gritted teeth.

"This is Westwood!"

He lashed out with his legs, tangling them in those of his opponent and bringing the other man down. He scrambled to his feet, only to be seized from behind by the leader, who had apparently recovered from his shock. (Jim knew, though, that the ringing in his ears and the pain would last for several days.)

"Quit horsing around! We need to move!"

Jim was lifted off the ground, much to his chagrin. He knew he was just barely average height, but come on! He lashed out backwards with his heels, attempting to catch his attacker in the shin. His captor yelped at the strike and his hold weakened, allowing Jim to slip free and dash for the exit.

He made it almost to the curve of the alley when the two men caught up with him. Damn, he'd been hoping Spinner would get them before they had time to follow. He knew it was too much to hope for that the two other snipers on the roof would still be around to help out. Not only were they of less skill than Spinner, they were probably dead.

AS he grappled with his two assailants, Jim felt a burning anger starting to build inside of him. He was no stranger to death and he wasn't one to worry too much about the loss of a pawn. What he did take offence to, though, was the fact that these men had the gall to attack _his_ organization and kill _his_ people. Did they have any idea how hard it was to find good help these days? The final straw came when Jim heard fabric tear.

"I thought I told you, this is _Westwood!_ "

He slammed an elbow into one attacker's throat, not the leader's. As the man chocked and tried desperately to get air back in his lungs, Jim whipped around to bring a knee up into the leader's groin. The leader pivoted at the last second, though, and Jim's knee hit his thigh instead. The larger man grabbed Jim by the hair and all but threw him into the alley's wall.

He groaned, knowing he was going to be sore after this. His muscles were already protesting. Blinking his eyes rapidly, he glanced up just in time to see a figure peering over the ledge of the building opposite. The mop of dark hair was instantly recognizable and Jim could clearly see the look of debate flickering over Sherlock's face. Should he help Jim or run for help?

"G-get John."

He knew there was no way the man could hear him at this distance, but one didn't become as successful as Sherlock Holmes without learning a few tricks. They'd already covered the fact that he could read lips, making it possible for Jim to pass of him message without having to be too obvious. The detective nodded and turned to run, gone by the time Jim's opponents turned to look. The leader shot him a dirty glare before seizing him by the hair again.

When had everything become so…dizzy?

"We need to get him out of here, no more fooling around."

Jim felt his head crash into something hard. Maybe it was the wall? The ground? He couldn't be sure anymore. Distantly, he recognized the feeling of hands lifting him and being dumped onto a cold, hard surface. His struggles were disorganized and sluggish, but they were enough to cause his attackers problems. He felt another sharp pain in his head and his entire world seemed to tilt. His vision blurred and faded and he wondered if maybe he had a concussion. What were the symptoms of a concussion?

Seb had taught him during that trip to Siberia, hadn't he? It was when Marcus had gotten attacked by the tiger. Where was Marcus, anyway? Did he make it out alive? Was he going to tell Seb? Jim expected so. Why wasn't Seb here? Seb was always there when Jim got in trouble.

Oh, yeah. He was with John. Jim really should make sure they weren't swapping embarrassing stories about him. He really couldn't let John find out about that whole debacle with the rubber duckies. Knowing how paranoid the man could be at times, he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to look at the toys the same again. (And, really, Jim couldn't blame him. He'd weeded out most of that organization, but he couldn't be sure he'd destroyed all of those troublesome ducks.)

Speaking of John, he'd probably know the symptoms for a concussion. He was a doctor, after all. He probably knew all sorts of things. All Jim knew was that it hurt to move his head. He'd probably just lie still for a while. At least, he would if this stupid ground would stop swaying. Why was the ground moving, anyway? Was that another symptom? Bloody hell, he was tired…

Jim drifted off for a while and his head hurt a lot less when he came back around. He was able to recognize the rumbling motion beneath him as the motion of a vehicle, probably a van of some sort from what he could see off the paneling. His head still hurt to move, so it was probably best if he stayed still. Besides, his captors would be less suspecting if they thought he was unconscious, best to stay still and plot his next action.

Though his attackers had shown a certain level of intelligence with their earlier attack on the warehouse, they shouldn't be too hard to outsmart now that he had his faculties back. Even if he chose to sit back and do nothing, these fools would soon have the righteous fury of John Hamish Watson reigning down upon their heads. Truly, the man disguised it well with his sweaters and humble attitude, but he became a compact storm of pure rage when his loved ones were threatened.

Jim could still remember the moment the blonde had grabbed hold of him from behind at the pool, willing to blow them both up in order to save Sherlock. He also remembered the unexpected excitement he'd felt to have the other's firm body pressed up against his own, even if there was that troublesome bomb vest in the way. Now was not the time for those thoughts, though.

He could feel the van slowing to a stop, pulling off the street and into what he could only guess was a garage of some kind. He heard the two men who'd captured him get out of the vehicle and walk away. The van was still on and, even with the cage he could see when he opened his eyes, he doubted he'd be so quick to leave him alone. The sound of shuffling from the front seat confirmed his suspicions that there was someone still in the van with him.

Turning his head slowly, he gazed at the van's driver. He was middle aged and nervous. His gaze flitted repeatedly after the two men. Jim didn't need the deductive skills of Sherlock Holmes to figure out that he'd been coerced into helping. The man had a cleaned up look about him that was uncharacteristic of a thug, even a high end one. Besides, Jim fancied himself a good judge of character. (After all, if any one was going to judge others on their character, Jim had the most room to talk.)

The man nearly jumped out of his skin when Jim sat up, gingerly, and shifted position so that his back was against the side of the cage. He definitely wasn't used to a life of crime, then. Jim would never use such a skittish individual for one of his operations, even if it was only as a getaway driver. The man was staring at him like Jim was about to rip through the cage and consume his soul. He couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up and past his lips.

"Oh, this is priceless! My reputation must really have taken a hit for this! What was it, blackmail? Seems the most likely reason for an amateur like you to be in on this kind of scheme. There was a time when no one would dare move against me without a team of professionals."

He cut off the laughter as his head ached in protest. What had they hit him with that last time? He was surprised he couldn't feel blood dripping down his scalp. The man in the driver's seat seemed even more terrified by his silence than he had by his laughter. Jim almost rolled his eyes. Ordinary people could be so annoying…maybe it was just John who was adorable?

"You shouldn't worry, you know."

"W-what?"

"You shouldn't worry. I can tell you are. Newbies are prone to worrying about their victims, especially if the newbies are being blackmailed." He sent a pointed look in the man's direction. "But you don't need to. I'm not in any danger."

"You're not? What the bloody Hell do you call this, then?"

Jim waved a hand in front of his face, brushing off the idea.

"If these kidnappers had any idea what they were doing, I'd have been bound by now. Really, for an organization that abducts people as their primary function, this is rather disappointing. I was expecting better."

"How can you be so nonchalant about this?! Do you know who these people even are? They're not good people!"

Now Jim really did roll his eyes.

" _Obviously._ I'm of the understanding that 'good people' don't usually go around kidnapping others. They're hardly a threat to me, though." He smiled, thinking of John. "I have my very own white knight coming to save me."

The driver just stared at him is disbelief. He probably would have said something more, but the rear doors were yanked open and the two men from earlier were back. The leader grinned wickedly upon finding him awake.

"Oh, good! You're just in time to meet our boss!"

Jim feigned a surprised face, much like the one he'd given Sherlock that day at the pool.

"You mean _you_ aren't the boss? Well, I must admit that comes as quite the relief. I was afraid for a bit that I may have been backing an organization run by a completely incompetent fool."

The man growled in response, ripping open the door to the cage. It only further proved Jim's point when this gave him to opportunity to place a well-aimed kick to his face. If his nose hadn't been broken before, it sure as Hell was now. Jim grinned even as the other man yanked him from the cage and threw him to the ground, jarring his head painfully. Now that they were at headquarters, or close enough, the two seemed on more even footing. As the first man cursed from pain, the other leaned low over Jim and produced a needle from seemingly nowhere.

"Now, now, Mr. Moriarty, do calm down. You're going to fetch such a pretty price for us and Boss will kill us if we damage the merchandise."

Well, that wasn't good.

He stuck the needle in Jim's neck and he felt the pressure as the drug was pushed into his system. Jim was no doctor, but he was pretty sure you weren't supposed to mix heavy drugs with a concussion. Perhaps that was why it took effect so quickly.

Though Jim had never taken drugs himself, he did know the effects very well. Many injectable drugs, even heroin, took between ten and twelve seconds to take effect. He was feeling this injection immediately. As the plunger pushed the drug into his system, he could immediately feel his thoughts clouding and his limbs growing heavier. There had to be an accelerant involved.

Really, the whole situation was rather funny and Jim couldn't help but start giggling. These idiots really thought they could get away with kidnapping and drugging Jim bloody Moriarty? He could not wait until John got here.

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From that point on, Jim swung back and forth between extreme giddiness and a level of drowsiness that would have worried him in another situation. As things stood, worrying wasn't really on his to-do list. The two men had dragged him inside the building, seeing as he wouldn't be able to walk right then.

Once inside, there had been some interaction with an older gentleman, but Jim couldn't pay attention to what was being said. Everything just looked so shiny! Shortly thereafter, or maybe a long time later (Jim was having trouble keeping track), he looked up to find himself in a completely different room. The drug was wearing off enough so that he could get more of a handle of his thoughts, but his body was still sluggish and the edges of his mind felt fuzzy.

The room was dark, all reds and blacks, and rather nice in comparison to the other areas he had seen or at least the ones he could remember. His head still hurt, but it wasn't quite as bad as before. He couldn't tell if it was because it was getting better or because of the drugs. He was laid out sideways across a couch, but he doubted his ability to stand without assistance. A man, mid-thirties, appeared at the edge of his vision, smiling down at him.

Where did they keep coming from?

"Oh, good! You're up! I must confess, a little bit of consciousness makes this part easier. I'm Randy."

Jim couldn't help giggling at the man's name as he was moved into an upright sitting position. The man ignored him and instead pulled off Jim's suit jacket. As he started in on the buttons, Jim began to squirm and attempted to push his hands away. It wasn't very effective, but it was the best he could do.

He didn't want this man taking his clothes off. Only John got to do that.

"Stoooop…I don't…want to…"

The man just gave him an indulgent smile and continued popping one button after another.

"You don't have a lot of choice in the matter, dear. Besides, you're our main entertainment for this evening. We can't have you going out there looking like such a mess. It's my job to get you cleaned up."

That made sense, he supposed. He did so hate being dirty, after all. He let Randy remove the rest of his clothing without a fuss, but kept a keen eye on him for suspicious behavior. (Or as keen an eye as one can have while high as a kite.) Once he was naked, Randy lead him over to a tub in the corner and all but lifted him into it.

The water felt warm against his skin and Jim couldn't help but grin broadly. Randy really wasn't that bad, now that he thought about it. The man began working through Jim's hair, which was knotted and tangled despite its short length. Perhaps there had been a bit of blood before after all.

After fixing his hair, Randy scrubbed down the rest of Jim's body. If he lingered somewhere a bit too long, Jim would shove his hand away. Only John got to appreciate him, no one else. Once he was out of the tub, he was draped in the biggest, fluffiest towel he'd ever seen in his life. He laughed as he nuzzled into it and was more than happy to rub it all over himself to dry off. He liked it so much he didn't want to give it back.

He had curled up at one end of the couch and clutched the towel to himself as Randy tried to convince him to let go. No matter what the man said, he'd just shake his head and clutch it tighter. He had to bring this towel back to John. John would love this towel.

"Ok. How about this? You can keep the towel, but I need you to put these clothes on, too." He indicated the small cluster of clothes he held in one hand. "We want you to look good for tonight and, though I'm sure sending you out there naked would get quite a reaction, we have plans."

Reluctantly, Jim allowed himself to be dressed. The outfit was simple, but elegant. The slacks he was given were black and clearly of a fine make, as was the shirt, which was a dark red. The two colors together played off his pale skin and Jim wished he could show John how it looked. He'd have to remember it for later.

Randy then moved on to making sure Jim's hair was in place and covering up the marks that had been left by the earlier kidnapping. Through it all, he kept up a constant commentary on how the kidnappers had messed up big time in harming him. He told Jim how cute he looked all defenseless and how much he was looking forward to seeing what happened later that night.

At some point, Jim hit another one of his drowsy spells and fell asleep right there on the couch. When he woke up, it was in a dark room. He was draped against Randy, who was the only thing keeping him standing, even now that he was awake again. They must have given him more of the drug.

Suddenly, bright light assaulted his vision as one of the room's walls split open and Randy dragged him forward. He started to lift his hand to block out the light, but found he couldn't move it up all the way. Blinking dumbly down at his wrist, he saw that they were cuffed together and chained to both his feet and a collar that encircled his neck.

Confusion colored his clouded mind as a booming voice said his name, along with a string of other words he couldn't quite piece together. Looking around for the first time, he noticed the crowd of people. Though he'd never been the nervous type before, something in their gazes just set him on edge.

He was so distracted he almost toppled over when Randy nudged him forward and prompted him through a slow 360 degree turn. The booming voice was still talking, picking up speed now numbers were being called. Jim decided he very much didn't like this. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to John.

Then suddenly, like a breath of fresh air, John was there. He stood in the crowd and said something that made all the others just stare at him. Jim had to giggle. He wondered what John had said. It hardly mattered though.

John was here~! He loved it that John was here. It felt like it had been so long since he'd seen the other man. He wanted to curl up around him and revel in his warmth. Yes, yes. That's exactly what he wanted.

He was so excited about John's presence, that he didn't even notice he was being carted over to a table until he was being strapped down to him, back to the surface. He twisted his arms around a bit, but they weren't going anywhere.

John was coming forward now. Good, John would let him out. He had just opened him mouth when he realized John, _his_ John, had a knife in his hand. Jim frowned. That wasn't right. What was going on?


	10. Gone-Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A resolution...and yet another conflict.

For all his big, brilliant brain, Sherlock couldn't figure out how things had gone so horribly wrong. It wasn't supposed to be this way. It was supposed to be easy. No one was supposed to get hurt. At least, no one was supposed to get hurt very seriously. He'd have been a fool not to expect at least a few repercussions for letting Jim get kidnapped, but nothing lasting.

So why was John bleeding in his arms?

The sight still made his brain go not so big and not so brilliant. He couldn't think, couldn't fathom that John was…hurt. It wasn't right. He must be mistaken. John was his best friend, only friend. He was there when everyone else was gone. He protected Sherlock from enemies as well as from friends. He was always there, always.

Once, Sherlock had told John not to make people out to be heroes. Heroes didn't exist and if they did, Sherlock wouldn't be one of them. Really, he should have been taking his own advice. Without even realizing it, he'd put John on a pedestal of being untouchable. He'd taken the man for granted and now he was paying the price.

He managed to tear his eyes away from John long enough to see Sebastian dragging Jim towards them. The mastermind was leaning heavily against his second, arm slung over his shoulder. Moran held a gun in his other hand and fired off a few more shots before turning his attention to Sherlock.

"We've got to get them out of here."

The detective could feel himself nodding, but not really understanding the words. They were moving? Why were they moving? Was it okay to move John? The only doctor he trusted enough to answer that question was unconscious in his lap. A bullet zipped past him and buried itself in a couch nearby. Shame, it looked like real Italian leather.

Oh, wait, the bullets. People were shooting at them. That's why they needed to move. What if John got shot? John wasn't allowed to get shot. Furthermore, no one was allowed to shoot John. Reminded of the danger they, and mainly John, were still in, Sherlock felt his mind sharpening. It was like going from slow motion to hyper speed and the younger Holmes brother took a sharp breath as everything snapped back into focus.

Quick as lightning, he assessed his flat mate's injuries. The blonde had a stab wound in the side that needed attention, but could wait until they got out of the current firefight. A blow to the head was what had knocked him out and was much more worrisome. There was no way for Sherlock to tell how bad that injury was without more information. The man who had caused the injury was some feet away, a bullet through his brain.

Sherlock felt a slight increase in his respect for Moran.

Deciding that it was safe to move John, Sherlock swept the man up in his arms. Had he been conscious, the movement would have been absolutely agonizing for John. However, seeing as how he wouldn't actually feel it, Sherlock decided it would be better to aim for speed than being gentle. John may be small, but he was compact and Sherlock felt himself strain against the weight.

"You are so going on a diet after this."

Moran was already moving across the room, one hand keeping Jim's arm slung across his shoulder and the other firing his gun. Moriarty's men were scattered about, shooting at the enemy, but there were still plenty of men left to shoot back. For his part, the mad genius was staring at Sherlock, seemingly oblivious to the world, and bullets, around him. His eyes were riveted of the doctor in his arms.

Since Jim had appeared on stage, he'd done mostly nothing but giggle and grin, obviously drugged. He hadn't been able to stand on his own and his dopey smile and made him all the more valuable in the eyes of the men and women wanting to bid on his death. It made his seem more innocent and naïve. Even if everyone in the audience knew he was anything but, the illusion played right into their fantasies.

It had been Sherlock's idea for John to start bidding. The two ex-soldiers were too straight forward in their thinking, more prone to head on attacks. It would only end up with more injuries. Besides, individuals couldn't get into this club that didn't have the money to bid, so it wasn't like they were going to ask John for proof that he could back up whatever he bid. All they had to do was create an illusion that they were purchasing Moriarty and then, through some clever subterfuge, slip the man out.

Sherlock had the whole thing planned out and had felt victory in his grasp as one after another bidder dropped out of the war. Scanning the crowd, Sherlock wasn't surprised by the few familiar faces he saw. There were a couple well-known business men who he'd only seen in pictures, but they had been enough to tell him all about their unsavory habits. A duchess he'd met only once was staring at Jim like a piece of meat. (She was one of the few still in the bidding war.) Thankfully, he'd been in disguise when they'd met so there was no risk of her recognizing him.

Everything was working out perfectly until Sherlock realized the organization meant to kill Jim right off. Their usual method was to hold each of the captives until after the biddings before delivering them to private rooms for their deaths. Apparently, the organization thought that Jim Moriarty was too good a prize to hold off on, though, or to do away with in private.

Luckily, John was a quick thinker in high risk situations, one of Sherlock's favorite qualities in the man. He knew better than to look to Sherlock for guidance, which would have been suspicious. Instead, he trusted his friend to have everything worked out and selected a knife to complete his task. Sherlock mused that John really could have had a backup career as an actor with the performance he put on about wanting to take it slow and watch Moriarty suffer.

Sherlock would have to keep that in mind for future reference.

Now, though, his mind raced to find a way to get them all out of this alive. As John took his time slicing off each button of Jim's shirt, Sherlock was reevaluating the weak points of the room. With Jim and John at the center of attention, there was no subtle way to go about this rescue. It was obvious that Moran would have teams outside, if he didn't he was an idiot, and they would provide just the distraction Sherlock was looking for.

Less than thirty second after Moran's text for action, they heard the first signs of the encroaching battle. Discomfort swept through the room at the sound of gunfire and several patrons started to look quite panicked when something that sounded suspiciously like a grenade went off. The duchess was one of these. She turned her anger on the man who had been running the auction.

"You fools! No doubt those are Moriarty's men! How careless were you in taking him? He holds the entire underworld in the palm of his hand! Did you really think it would be so easy?" She pulled a handgun from the inside of her coat with a flick of her wrist and pointed it at the man. Sherlock blinked rapidly in surprise. "Really, it's almost insulting how much you've underestimated the boss-man. But, hey, at least you have the excuse of being stupid."

The room exploded into action as she fired off a shot. At one end, the doors slammed open as Jim's men swarmed the place. At the other, the organization's goons pulled weapons and started firing back. Waiters and waitresses dove for cover as the patrons panicked, many getting caught in the crossfire. To be honest, Sherlock couldn't bring himself to feel very concerned.

The (fake?) duchess was grinning so wide it nearly split her face as she pulled another gun from hiding and ducked behind a column to fire at the enemy. Her entire body language had changed and Sherlock was left wondering if this was really the same woman. He didn't have the time to dwell on it, though, as he turned to John.

The blonde was currently in a fist fight with the man who had dragged Moriarty onto the stage. Clearly, the man had tried to retrieve Jim and John was getting in his way. John grabbed the man behind his head and pulled him down hard to knee him in the face. He slumped to the ground with barely a groan. Sherlock hopped up onto the elevated platform to help get his ex-nemesis out of his bindings.

Jim giggled at him as he wrestled with the ties.

"Sh'lock! Sooooooo good to see you! I wasn't-wasn't sure you'd be showzing up!"

"Quite."

After that, Jim's focus, if it could even be called that, was squarely on John. Even drug addled as he was, Jim had his priorities in order. As soon as his arms were free, he was reaching for the man, babbling on about towels are some other nonsense. Sherlock just focused on untying his ankles. They needed to get out of here. He should have been paying more attention.

A pained grunt from John was the only indication that something was wrong. Sherlock's head snapped up in time to see the man John had just been fighting rip a knife from John's side before slamming the hilt into the back of his skull. Horror filled him as the doctor crumpled, drawing an intelligible but clearly distressed cry from the man still partially bound. Even with a black shirt, Sherlock could see the blood spreading.

The man with the knife turned on Sherlock only to stop with a jolt as a bullet tore through his forehead. He fell to the side to reveal Moran running toward the platform and vaulting over his lifeless body. The colonel gestured towards John.

"Get him to cover! I'll get Jim!"

Discarding his usual lack of ability when it came to taking orders, Sherlock had dragged his unconscious friend off the platform and behind a pillar. It was there, with John clutched desperately in his arms, that his mind had short circuited. He really shouldn't have let that happen.

His long legs allowed him to easily keep pace with the mercenary as they made their way across the room with their burdens. Moriarty's minions moved seamlessly to cover them and clear their path. There were only twelve of them, but they were clearly Jim's best. Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock caught a glimpse of a figure darting among the enemies, taking them out with a sword. Really, where did Jim find these people?

They made it out the door without further incident, if you could call walking through a gunfight not an incident. Moran had a van waiting and the back doors swung open as they approached. A tall man with a pinched face looked out at them, running a calculating look over all four. He gave a huff of annoyance before stepping aside.

"Well, get them inside. I want this over with as soon as possible. Unlike some of you, I actually have a life."

"Whatever, Graves. See to Watson first. My head will roll if anything happens to him and Jim's not in any immediate danger."

Graves gave a noise of indifference as Sherlock set John on the tarp-covered floor of the van. He watched closely as the man cut John's shirt off and inspected the wound in John's side. Without looking up, he pulled over one of the several tool boxes that were scattered about the back. Flipping open the lid, he pulled out a needle and thread. The, Sherlock hesitated to use the word, doctor poured a generous about of rubbing alcohol over John's side before wiping off most of the blood.

"The wound isn't bad. It's bleeding a lot, but that's to be expected. I imagine the worst side effect will be his need to take it easy for the next several weeks. Don't want to irritate the injury or pull the stitches. Which of you wants to drive? I need him back at my workshop to monitor his head wound and I'll have something there to flush the rest of the drug out of our dear leader's system."

"You intend to stitch him up while in a moving vehicle?"

Sherlock's incredulous question was met with a bored look, which was as much of an answer as it appeared he'd be getting. He snatched up the keys and moved to the driver's seat. Moran could deal with Moriarty.

"Where am I going?"

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"Where am I?"

When John woke up, it was to a splitting head ache. He raised one hand to his aching head and looked to the side. Sherlock watched him over the book in his hand. The room they were in was unfamiliar, but clearly not a hospital, though there was some equipment scattered about. It looked more like a really cheap hotel, the kind you rented an hour at a time.

There wasn't a clock and the one window was so covered in grime John couldn't see through it, but light was filtering in so it had to be at least the next day. Sherlock had put his book down and was studying John intensely.

"One of Jim's places, how do you feel?"

"Bloody awful."

The brunette's lips quirked in an almost smile.

"Well, you did get stabbed. It's been said that it can leave you a bit worse for wear."

"Still not as bad as getting shot."

"Yes, well, let's try not to go for a repeat of that experience."

The blonde man's chuckle quickly turned into a groan as he pressed a hand to his side. He shut his eyes for a moment before looking over at Sherlock again.

"Alright, no more making me laugh. In this situation, laughter is definitely not the best medicine."

Sherlock could clearly see the pain on his face, despite his attempts to hide it. The brunette pushed himself up from his chair.

"I'll get the doctor."

"Don't. I'm fine, just need a minute." He took a couple deep breathes and Sherlock would see him settling down. "Where's Jim? Dealing with the crisis, I assume."

Sherlock approached the bedside, discarding the thought of sitting back down.

"He came by early this morning once the drugs were all out of his system. He seemed to need reassurance that you were okay, but left soon after. There's been an underling coming by every hour to check on you, no doubt sending him updates."

"He's okay, then? No lasting damage?"

"Nothing a drug flush and a night's sleep didn't fix. Really, I think Anderson could have pulled off a better kidnapping."

Now John was grinning again and Sherlock could almost believe that things were okay and that they would just go back to how things normally were. (It startled him somewhat to realize that Jim making a habit of walking into their flat unannounced to shower John with affection had become normal, or that he and Sherlock had wound up such good…friends. On the bright side, though, it drove Mycroft up the wall.) However, Sherlock couldn't shake the feeling he'd gotten that morning that something wasn't quite right.

Jim had been relieved to see John and know that he was okay, even if he hadn't awoken yet. Graves had assured them that he remained unconscious because of the stress to his body from healing, not because of brain damage caused by the head injury. Still, there had been a current of tension in the way Jim held himself that put Sherlock of high alert. It was easy enough for him to deduce that the man felt guilty and blamed himself for John getting hurt. What Sherlock couldn't tell was what he planned to do about it.

After all, Jim Moriarty was not a man who was easy to predict. With a mind that worked as fast as Sherlock's, it was nigh impossible to deduce at the same rate as the other man made decisions. That being said, the detective had a nagging in his gut that this was not going to end well. He couldn't be sure what was going to happen, but it wasn't going to be good.

He wasn't going to tell John any of this, of course. The man needed to rest and heal and, for once, Sherlock was going to do his best to keep any and all stress out of the other's life. (At least until things became unbearably boring.) John's injury had driven home the man's importance in Sherlock's life and he was still in a protective phase. His thoughts were interrupted as the doctor from the night before swept into the room, looking as grumpy as he had previously.

"Awake, I see, Dr. Watson. Good. I'm going to check your wounds."

The saying that doctor's didn't make good patients obviously didn't extend to John. He sat through Graves's examination without complaint, moving and adjusting when and where told to. He answered the doctor's questions as fully as he could, his own medical knowledge giving his answers precision and direction. Despite his permanently sour expression, Sherlock could read Graves's satisfaction in his body language. He clearly appreciated a patient who cooperated. (It was probably a rarity, considering that his street surgeon business didn't normally bring in willing participants, or at least not eager ones.)

However, he did seem competent, and that was what mattered to Sherlock. The examination lasted only a few minutes and the doctor nodded at the end as he stepped away.

"Well, the good news is that there shouldn't be any lasting damage and you're healing up well. You'll need to keep an eye on the stab wound, it required some stitches. I'm told you're a doctor?"

"Yeah, ex-army and I still do some locum work at a surgery."

"Good. Then the care shouldn't cause you much a problem. If you encounter any complications, though, feel free to call me. I won't be held responsible for anything going wrong. The boss would have my head and I really don't have time for that. As for the head wound, it'll be tender for a while. You'll have a headache for a while, but stick to over the counter painkillers to manage it." He turned to Sherlock. "Someone will need to keep an eye on him. Moriarty left me with instructions to tell you what to look for. If any of these things appear, contact me immediately."

The man began rattling off symptoms, but Sherlock was no longer listening. His mind was racing as all the pieces began to fall into place. Unceremoniously, he pushed past the doctor, ignoring his sound of indignation. Seizing John's arm, he pulled the man up.

"Come on, we've got to go. Hurry."

"Sherlock? What are you talking about? What's going on?"

Despite his confusion and obvious exasperation with Sherlock's behavior, John moved after the man as he fled the building and hailed a cab. It was one of the traits valued most about his friend. He knew Sherlock well enough to understand that there was not always time for an explanation and trusted him enough to follow without one.

Sherlock spent the taxi ride going over all the details in him mind and hoping that he was wrong, more than he ever had before in his life. If the situation turned out the way he thought it would…He didn't want to consider the repercussions. He could feel John's questioning look from across the taxi, especially when he told the driver to go to Baker Street. He was throwing money at the driver and getting out of the car before it had even come to a full stop. John hurried after him.

Horror filled him when he saw the door to 221C standing open. He heard John falter behind him, more than likely putting the pieces together himself. Cautiously, he entered the flat.

It was empty, completely and utterly. Every piece of furniture, every appliance, every grocery from the kitchen was all gone.

Jim Moriarty had left.


	11. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty's Minions aren't too pleased with the way things have been going. They decide it's about time to take matters into their own hands...

"You talk to him."

"Are you insane, Spinner? I don't want to die! Why don't you talk to him?"

"The mood he's in? No way."

Spinner sat back on the couch, stretching his long legs in front of him. A few of Moriarty's Deadly Dozen, minus Sebastian, were scattered around the room. The twins had been playing cards at the table, but the game now lay forgotten. Kili and Fili, who obviously had too much of an obsession with The Hobbit, were now focused entirely on their argument with Spinner.

Duchess and Graves obviously had no interest in what was being said. As the two oldest members, they were often exasperated by their younger colleagues. The twins, especially, had a tendency to make fools of themselves. Jezebel sat in an armchair, sharpening her sword with a wet stone, filling the air with a rasping sound. Marcus was brewing a new pot of coffee. Ever since the fuck up at the warehouse, he'd been working overtime to make up for it. Clearly, he blamed himself for the whole situation. With a sigh, he intervened in what could easily become an all-out fight.

"Neither of you will be talking to him. We don't get paid to be his life counselors. We're paid to kill people, when and where he tells us, no questions asked."

He sent a stern look Kili's way, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Kili and Spinner had started this, but Marcus was pretty sure Kili was the only one likely to actually try and act on it. Fili, of course, immediately jumped in to defend his twin.

"We don't want to be his councilors!"

"Yeah, we don't get paid nearly enough for _that._ "

"Shut up, Kili. It's just that the boss has been really…distracted since the kidnapping. The Jim Moriarty we all know and fear is cold, calculating, and completely off his rocker. This Jim, though, he's going to make a mistake and when it happens, it's going to happen big. We all chose sides in this fight and I, for one, would like to feel secure in the fact that we chose the winning one."

Jezebel's head snapped up at Fili's words, but her hand didn't pause in its sharpening. Her jet black hair framed pale skin as she glared at the blonde, her traditional Japanese features haunting against the inky backdrop.

"Watch it. You're getting really close to saying something I'll have to kill you for. Are you thinking of switching sides?"

Fili held up his hands in defense as Kili stood up, determined to protect his brother if it so came to it. The black haired twin had no desire to leave Jim's service, but his brother came first, always. Luckily, Fili was always good at talking people down.

"Woah, woah. No such thing. You wouldn't remember this, it was before your time here, but the boss man saved me and Kili. He made us who we are today. We owe him our lives and we're not going to forget that, ever. Not a single one of us got here by having spotty loyalty. Whatever the boss wants us to do, you better be sure we're gonna do it."

Jezebel sheathed her sword, apparently done sharpening it for the time being. She took on a thoughtful look before nodding.

"I just don't see what's causing all of these issues."

"It's that doctor guy, Sherlock Holmes's assistant or whatever."

"Eloquent as always, Kili."

"Shut up, bro. I'm right and you know it."

"His name is John Watson, ex-army doctor. He was invalided home from Afghanistan after taking a gunshot wound to the shoulder which should have been fatal. He's an excellent shot, easily good enough to rival Kili's skill with a pistol, but no sniper. He is…impressive."

The majority of the room stared at Graves.

"Did you just join a conversation of your own free will?"

"Quick, someone check his temperature!"

Graves just glared at the twins. He really wished he didn't have to put up with them.

"I treated Doctor Watson after the kidnapping incident and have followed his medical journals from when he was in the RAMC. I can't say much for the manners of his flat mate, but he is a remarkable man."

Kili's mouth was hanging open. Graves never complimented _anyone._ The fact that his sour expression didn't change the entire time did nothing to lessen the shock. Fili was the first to recover.

"That man scares me. You know, when the boss went to the Yard to return his phone, this guy started _reprimanding_ him. I've never seen Moriarty take shit from anybody when it wasn't part of an act and he downright cowered in front of this guy! Then, he's all uncomfortable and doesn't want to talk about things but this John or whatever just steamrolls over his protests and tells him to get on with it. I didn't think it was _possible_ to steamroll over him!"

Spinner was nodding, the American sniper for once agreeing with the older of the twins.

"It was creepy. I remember hearing the audio. Moriarty was really insistent that we use laser pointers and not actual sniper rifles to make sure no one got hurt. He was fixated on John's disapproval and then he goes off and tells John about how he needs to keep the cell phone on him cause Moriarty wants to be able to reach him to know he's safe. What's up with that?"

Duchess was smiling knowingly, a habit of hers that the others hated. Her soft chuckling brought her to the center of attention.

"It's so cute, how you all are having so much trouble figuring out what's going on. Admittedly, I never expected to see Jim acting like so much of an idiot, but the truth is still painfully obvious."

"Well, then, Oh-Great-One, why don't you enlighten us?"

"He's in love."

The revelation was met with silence, probably because they sat in a room full of emotionally stunted men. Jezebel, though, was nodding slowly as she sat forward, clearly warming to the idea.

"It makes sense. No wonder he was asking me about which tie color would bring out his eyes the other week." She nodded thoughtfully. "I ship it."

"You 'ship' it?"

Fili and Kili were looking at her like she was crazy, but she appeared not to notice.

"Yeah. Jim and John, together, I ship it. I admit, I don't know much about this John fellow, but Moriarty has been like a completely different person since they got together. He's _happy._ Really, that's all that matters to me. Now, we just have to figure out what to call them."

"Call them?"

"Yeah. All the great, famous couples have cute little name combos to represent their relationship. Think of Brad Pitt and Angelina, over in the United States. Theirs is shortened to Brangelina."

"That's disgusting."

Suddenly, Spinner's face lit up.

"Like Peeniss!"

"What the bloody hell, man?!"

Now the twins were looking at him like _he_ was the crazy one.

"Oh, don't gimme that! It's Peeta and Katniss, from The Hunger Games. Don't you two read?"

"Not if we can help it."

"We're getting off topic. We need to figure out what the boss man and the army doc's combo will be!"

Graves was ignoring them again, and Marcus seemed exasperated beyond belief, but everyone else seemed to be taking the situation seriously. Or, at least they were taking as seriously as they could take anything.

"Jiohn? Johim? This is a lot harder with names that start with the same letter."

"Ok. We focus on the last names. Moriarty and…what was the doc's last name again?"

"Watson," Spinner supplied.

"Right. Watson."

"Morson?"

"Moriarson?"

"Watiarty?"

"What if we combine the first name of one with the last name of the other? Like, Jimson?"

"What are they, a type of tea? No." The dark haired man chuckled. "Wow, we suck at this."

"Shut up, Kili. Your brother has a point; we just have to work with it. First of all, the boss man would never let some else's last name be used, not even someone as special as John. He has to be the dominate one, so his last name has to be used. That leaves us with John."

"So what are we left with? Moriohn?"

"Johniarty." They all jumped and spun to look at the doorway, where Moran casually leaned against the door frame. "The combo you're looking for is Johniarty. However, it's irrelevant now because it's over. It was a phase and the boss has moved on. If you value your lives, you will too. He won't react well if any of this reaches his ears."

He cast a stern look among the assassins and a chorus of 'yes, sir's came from around the room. These seven were Jim's favorites of the Deadly Dozen, but they were Hell to deal with sometimes. Like Jezebel Now. With that look in her eye. Moran held back a sigh as she opened her mouth.

"But why is it over, sir? I thought the boss man really liked John, and then John went and risked his life to save him…why would he leave after that?"

"It's not your place to question what Moriarty does or who he chooses to spend his time with." There was a pause as Moran teetered on the edge of a decision that could either go very well, or get him killed. "I'm not about to divulge any of our boss's thought processes. But if I were, I might indicate that Jim left because he was too attached to John, not because he didn't care enough."

A smile slipped onto Duchess's face and she looked, for all the world, like a grandmother humoring her grandkids.

"So, were you to divulge such information, it would be logical for us to take that to mean Jim-dear had left because he thought his presence threatened John's safety. After all, he did leave right after John got hurt trying to save him."

"I wouldn't be able to confirm it, but it seems like a logical thing to think."

"Now, if you were to tell us these things, which you aren't, could we take that to mean you supported trying to get the couple back together?"

"Even if that were true, there'd be nothing I could do in that arena. It could be that I think Jim was happier with John in his life. It could be that I think this break up is tearing him apart. Either way, my hands would be tied when it came to doing anything because of orders directly from the chief."

"Oh, Sebastian, I always knew you were a softie! You want them together more than any of us!"

A scowl stretched across Moran's face at the swordswoman's words. The mercenary obviously didn't enjoy being called a softie.

"You may be onto something, had I told you any of this. Unfortunately, I didn't. I'm still the hard ass who makes sure you do your jobs right and nothing more. Any information you find out, you'll have to find out on your own."

With that he turned and walked out of the room, leaving many of them gaping after him. Sebastian was an alright guy by any of them, but he never interacted with the other minions any more than necessary. He was Jim's right hand and he always had something to do, so no one ever really saw a social side to him. This revelation, though, wasn't what they needed to be focusing on.

"Alright. So I guess that leaves it up to us to get Jim and John back together. The question is, how?"

Spinner nodded thoughtfully.

"We're going to need more help. No one here actually knows this John guy. We need to get in contact with someone who can give us a better understanding of his situation."

Duchess only continued to smile contentedly.

"It sounds like we need a consult. I know just the man."

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"Be quick. _Don't_ be boring."

As Sherlock Holmes sank into the chair across from the woman, he started to regret coming at all. The older woman had sent him a message through his website, asking him to meet her at a café just two blocks from Baker Street. The message had been just cryptic enough to pique his interest without actually giving him any details. Really, he should have been more suspicious.

It was just that he was so desperate to get out of the flat. He wasn't bored. The flat just felt so…suffocating right now. John hadn't been himself since Jim had up and left. He tried to hide it, pretend everything was alright, but the air around him was heavy with his pent up emotions. The only time the flat seemed at ease was when John was at the pub, having a few too many pints. Sherlock often had to call his name multiple times to get his attention, due to how distracted he had been lately.

He'd see something that reminded him of Moriarty (Sherlock had gone back to thinking of the criminal consultant by his last name.) and his mind would just drift off. It irritated Sherlock that his friend was so distracted from the work, but he knew he just had to wait it out and John would go back to normal…he hoped.

So he had taken the case and agreed to the meeting before thinking it all the way through. Now, as he gazed at the older woman in front of him, he regretted it. Really, she was probably only about Mycroft's age, but she had an air about her that made her seem ageless. She smiled pleasantly, but it did nothing to brighten Sherlock's mood.

"Oh, Sherlock, I remember your straightforward attitude fondly. I was hoping you'd still have it."

"So what are you today then? A duchess? Wealthy businesswoman looking to buy someone's death? Or do you not like to repeat yourself?"

"Today I am a concerned employee…and a client. Just call me Duchess, dear. Everyone else does."

"I thought I said not to be boring. Clearly, you didn't hear me."

"So you've figured out why I'm here? Your mind's as quick as ever, I see."

"It really couldn't be more obvious. You work for Moriarty, who has no doubt been irritable and somewhat erratic since moving out of Baker Street so suddenly. Sentiment does that to people." He sneered, not bothering to hide his disdain for the emotion. "It's affected you, too. As a professional, I'd had higher hopes for you than that. You're concerned that Moriarty's behavior will affect his business, but it's more than that. You want him to be happy. How trite."

"So what do I want from you? Obviously, I wouldn't even be here if I didn't want something."

"You've known Moriarty for years and work for him. His level of distress is obvious to you. What you don't know is if John feels the same way. Furthermore, you have no previous contact with John. You can't just approach an ex-military man who works with a consulting detective out of the blue and expect him to trust you. You need someone who knows the current situation and can sway things in your favor. That, Duchess, is why you came to me."

"So what can you tell me?"

"Nothing."

The shocked look on her face make Sherlock's lips twitch into a smile. At least this meeting wasn't a total waste.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm not going to tell you anything. You will get no information or help from me. Unlike you, I am not so weighed down by sentiment. John is my partner and, as such, is more valuable to me alive than dead. Jim did the right thing by leaving him. He was a danger to John. As long as they were together, John would be in danger."

"He is in danger almost every day with your cases."

"John chooses to come on the cases. He knows the risks involved."

"He _chose_ to be with Jim."

"He was mistaken."

The glare she leveled at him could have peeled skin from bone, but Sherlock just continued to stare at her, unfazed.

"Alright. Thank you for your time, Mr. Holmes. I think we're done here."

"Finally, we agree on something."

He stood but was stopped when she spoke again.

"You and your brother are much alike, both doing stupid things to avoid sentiment. Someday, I would like to see you both realize how wrong you are."

"Then you will be waiting a very long time."

He could feel her glare on his back as he swept out of the café, coat fluttering behind him. Now, all he had to do was hope this phase John was in would be over soon. The silence in the flat was nearly deafening.

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Mycroft raised a single eyebrow as his office doors swung inward to reveal a woman he hadn't seen in quite a few years. He certainly hadn't expected to see her here. Anthea stood a bit behind her, giving Mycroft a look that was clearly asking if she should remove the woman. His history with the Duchess, he believed that's what she was called now, was before his assistant's time. He waved off her concern and waited until she had closed the doors to greet his unexpected guest.

"Clarisse, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

He kissed her on each cheek and guided her to one of the plush chairs before his desk before reclaiming his own seat. She smiled warmly at him, fondness clear in her eyes.

"Always the gentlemen, Mycroft. I wish more of our countrymen had your manners."

"Ah, but then they would not be so appreciated." He spared her a smile, one that felt almost real, before returning to business. "I know you haven't just come here to compliment me. What are you looking for from me? There always was something."

"Not always. This time, though, you are correct." She settled back into her chair and leveled him with one of those gazes that always seemed to shoot straight to his soul. "What do you know about the relationship between John Watson and Jim Moriarty?"

Whatever Mycroft had been expecting, it wasn't that. Silence ruled for a couple beats before he could respond.

"The relationship had lasted some months, but ended rather recently. To tell you the truth, I'm rather relieved. Why do you ask?"

He had avoided keeping a tab on Clarisse after about the first year. He had no idea what she was doing these days, but he highly doubted it was on his side of the law. Whatever she wanted with John and Moriarty's relationship, it was likely to give him a headache and he'd rather know now so as to be prepared.

"Let's just say I have a vested interest in seeing their bond repaired. I have already attempted to hire your brother onto the task, but he has refused me."

"And what makes you think that I will give you a different outcome?"

Her smile was almost pitying and she rose to step around his desk. He noted in an off-hand part of his brain that she was still as graceful as ever. She leaned one hip against the desk reached over to brush some imaginary dust from his shoulder. (Mycroft was absolutely certain there couldn't be actual dust there.)

"I would hope for old time's sake, but I know how you feel about sentiment. Instead, I'll appeal to your logic. How do you think John will be reacting to the loss of Jim Moriarty in his life? Not well, I'm sure. Now, think about what that's going to mean for Sherlock. Your brother is the most important person in the world to you. Maybe you should take a look, for his sake if nothing else." She withdrew a business card from her purse and slipped it into Mycroft's breast pocket. "Here's dear Jim's number…Just in case."

She turned to leave and Mycroft almost let her get away before he found his voice.

"Clarisse?" She made a humming noise and looked back at him. "For what it is worth, I do regret how things ended."

Another of those sad, pitying smiles crossed her lips before she turned away.

"It is the past, Mycroft. Hindsight is always 20/20."

She pulled open his office doors and, not for the first time, Mycroft Holmes watched the most fascinating woman he'd ever met walk away.

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Jezebel hated undercover jobs. She really did. She especially hated undercover jobs that required elaborate appearance chances. Curse the fact that she was the only one of them with the appropriate height. The only thing that kept her from bailing out was keeping up a constant mantra in her mind the she was doing this to get Jim and John back together. Between the makeup, wig, and chest bindings(the twins had jokingly said she wouldn't need them), she was pretty uncomfortable.

It didn't help that she'd been following John Watson and Sherlock Holmes around for hours with no opening to implement their plan. Two hours ago, she'd gotten the text from Duchess saying that Mycroft would be watching, but that didn't mean anything if nothing happened. In response, the members of the Deadly Dozen had devised a plan to make sure something did.

The com unit shoved in her ear cracked a bit before Spinner's voice came over the wave length. Jezebel prayed this was the opportunity for her to at least move out of the alleyway she'd been crouched in for the past twenty minutes. Jim and John were working a case and had entered a factory almost a half hour before to try and find the culprit. The sniper was watching the building while Jezebel waited a few blocks away.

"We've got a winner, folks! We've got a foot race headed in your direction, Bel! Remember, Sherlock can't see you. Try and head for a crowd. There's a busy shopping center five blocks to the west of you."

The swordswoman eagerly moved into position, hiding around corner that gave her access to easy escape routes. The sound of pounding footsteps gave her ample warning as to when her targets where approaching. She watched as an unfamiliar man and then Sherlock flew past the opening to the street she was on before 'casually' stepping out and really being run over by the following John Watson.

They both stumbled but kept their footing. Luckily, Jezebel was just out of reach when John looked up to see who he'd run into.

"Jim?"

Perfect.

Jezebel turned and fled, knowing her disguise would fool him for a quick look, but would never hold up under any kind of scrutiny. Behind her, she could hear John call Jim's name again before giving chase. She ducked down one street after another, a smile nearly splitting her face in half as she heard his footfalls coming after her. Everything was going according to plan.

Up ahead, she could see the crowded shopping center Spinner had told her about. The twins, each sporting a black eye, hung around a white paneled van on the other side of the milling people. The crowd wasn't thick, but it would cause a hassle to anyone trying to get through. Jezebel just hoped she could get to the van before John could get to her. Fili started up the engine just as she was plunging into the shoppers.

Dodging and weaving, she could still hear John calling out behind her. A risky glance over her shoulder revealed that a group of tourists had arrived just in time to cut him off. A ridiculously handsome-looking blonde man at the center of the group wiggled his fingers at Jezebel in a wave and she nearly stumbled in her footsteps. What was _he_ doing here? The ex-soldier was desperately trying to get through the group, but the lost ground meant there was no chance of him catching up.

Jezebel leapt into the open door of the van as soon as she reached it, letting Kili slam the door shut behind as his brother took off. With the mission safely accomplished, she wasted no time in ripping off the various pieces that made up her disguise. She took a few moments to savor her ability to breathe again before touching her earpiece to contact Spinner.

"We're all good here. How are things going your end?"

She could practically here the grin in the sniper's voice.

"Better than we could have hoped for. The suspect pulled a gun on Holmes. The men his brother sent to spy on him had to jump in to keep him from being shot. I think we can safely bet Holmes the elder will be making that call now…"

There were high-fives throughout the van.

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"How did you get this number?"

"You have your sources, Mr. Moriarty, and I have mine. It wouldn't be fair if we just started giving them away, now would it?"

"I'm in no mood for games, Mycroft."

"Clearly. Luckily for us, I'm not in the mood to play around, either. I do have a purpose for calling, after all."

"Then I suggest you get to it."

"John Watson. I want you to go see him."

There was a long pause.

"I thought better of you than this, Mycroft."

"Yes, well, it's a good thing I've never put much stock in your opinion then, isn't it?"

"I should end this call now before it gets any more idiotic."

"You won't though. We both know it. Don't you want to know how your dear John is doing?"

"No. And he isn't my dear anything. Not anymore."

"He's falling apart. Oh, he hides it well, but he's clearly in pain."

"What do you care?"

"I don't. However, it is starting to affect Sherlock, putting him in danger. That, I'm afraid, I cannot allow."

"I guess you'll have to figure it out, then. You're a smart man, I'm sure you can do it. But I'm not going back."

A sigh could be heard from Mycroft's end of the line before he spoke again.

"I really had wished not to use this…I'm calling in my favor."

"Favor? What favor?"

"Surely your second in command told you of the hand I had in your…rescue? I provided CCTV footage and information that, I am reliably informed, lead directly to your salvation. It appears you owe me your life. So, and I do hope you don't make me repeat myself again, I am calling in my favor."

"I should have you gutted."

"Something to think about during your meeting with John. It was a pleasure speaking with you, Mr. Moriarty."

The line disconnected.

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Jim Moriarty stood outside the pub where he and John had their first encounter, well their first encounter that lead to the best sex he'd ever had at least. His intelligence suggested that this was where John was. For his part, Jim was trying not to think about why they'd had the information on John's whereabouts so handy. He entered the pub cautiously, eyes scanning the crowd for signs of the blonde doctor.

He found his prize sitting on the same barstool Jim himself had occupied those months ago and the consulting criminal's eyes greedily drank in the sight of the man he hadn't seen in over a month. A half empty glass of what Jim guessed was whiskey sat before him. Even with his back towards the door, the criminal consultant could tell that John was staring into the glass as if it held all the answers in the world. His shoulders were slumped in defeat, a posture that seemed foreign to the slightly intoxicated man.

Jim felt a twinge in his chest that could have been his heart breaking a little bit more if he wasn't absolutely sure he'd crushed the blasted organ with his decision to leave Baker Street. If Jim were completely honest, something he'd only ever been with himself, he'd admit to missing the man. He'd thought he'd be able to go back to the way things were before John had entered his life. Sure, he expected it to be uncomfortable for a time, but he hadn't anticipated having much of a problem.

Instead, he was constantly dealing with reminders of what he and John had. He couldn't drink tea anymore, not when every cup tasted like swill in comparison to the blogger's. There was no way he could take up the shadier sides of his business again. He constantly had a little voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously familiar that complained about morals and human life. Moreover, he couldn't bear the thought of hurting John any more than he already had.

Seeing the man before him, beaten down by emotion, multiplied the pain Jim was already feeling. For someone who had never felt guilt in his life, the consulting criminal felt surrounded by it now. It suffocated him and he cursed Mycroft Holmes in his mind for his stupid meddling. That being said, Jim Moriarty respected the power of favors, and he would follow through on this one.

Nervousness bubbled in his stomach as he approached the blonde and slid onto the stool next to him, reminding him distinctly of that first conversation.

"I'd ask what you're doing here, but I doubt you'd tell me."

John's voice was low, missing all of its usual strength. It startled Jim to hear the ex-soldier sound so small. It was unnatural. His heart was torn between joy and twisted pain as John uttered the same words he had before. He's been more prepared for John to punch him. It felt like his entire ribcage was collapsing inward, as John couldn't even match his gaze.

"I did it to protect you, you know. I'd only put you in danger. I couldn't let you get hurt again."

It wasn't what he'd meant to say, but it spilled out of his mouth anyway. Honestly, he had no idea what he was going to say, anyway. He'd been too struck by John's drastic change in demeanor. He hadn't been watching John back when he'd first arrived home from Afghanistan, just the blonde had told him stories of how broken he had been. Even then, he hadn't imagined anything as bad as this.

A bitter smile split John's face like a nasty gash. There was no trace of the steady man Jim had become so used to. He didn't recognize the man in front of him.

"Yeah, well, pretty crap job you did of that. I'd prefer getting shot again, thanks."

Jim winced at the words, hating the mental image they painted for him. He'd known he would hurt John, but John could do better. He deserved better.

"You don't need me."

"I want you. Don't I get a say in this at all?" He laughed harshly, more a forceful exhale than an actual laugh. "But I suppose it's too late for that now."

Jim could feel the denials bubbling up in his throat, the apologies and begs for forgiveness threatening to spill over, but he held them back. He had to stay strong. Perhaps John was in pain, but he was alive. For all his genius brain, he couldn't think of a thing to say, so he just said John's name.

For the first time during their conversation, if you could call it that, John raised his eyes from the bar and met Jim's own. They clouded over with heart break and an agony Jim could only understand because he had felt it himself after removing the last of his things from Baker Street. They held agony and despair that couldn't be expressed with words.

The only thing left in Jim's chest was a gaping cavity of raw anguish. As he stared into John's eyes, he felt as though someone were thrusting a hot poker into that cavity and twisting it, just for good measure. Absolutely not, John was not allowed to wear that expression. He wouldn't let him.

"I don't understand. You could do better. I'm no good for you, John."

Now that the blonde had made eye contact, he seemed emboldened. The lines of his face turned hard, pain still etched in each one. Now though, there was strength there to run beside it. His eyes didn't waver from Jim's face and he pinned the other man down with his glare.

"What we have isn't about good or bad, Jim. It's about meeting each other's needs. I need you…but I guess that feeling wasn't mutual." Here his eyes flickered down again before the soldier in him pulled them back up. "I get that, you know?"

Jim just stared at the man. How could he possibly think that the criminal didn't need him just as much? If anything, he was the one being detrimental to John. John was the only person he'd met that had ever truly been able to fascinate him for any length of time. He held so many contradictions without straying even an inch from his personal views. No person existed who could call John Watson a hypocrite.

He also had the stunning effect of making Jim want to be a better person in general, which was a miracle in and of itself. He'd never felt emotions before, other than anger and irritation. Now, though, Jim felt as though every moment of his life was spent on fire.

John had brought him that. John had this way about him that just drew others in. He never did it on purpose, but those around him gravitated towards him. It would have been a great quality for a dictator, or if John had chosen to turn his life towards the criminal element, like Jim had. But that wasn't John.

Now, to hear him say that he believed Jim hadn't felt the same way, didn't _still_ feel the same way…and he hadn't even stopped talking yet.

"I'm boring, normal. I know that. I'll never have the skills to keep you occupied. I'm a wounded army-vet who can't even find a place to live without a flat mate." A sound forced its way from his throat that could have been a laugh, were it not so infused with bitterness. "You need stimulation, a constant puzzle. I can't give that to you. I'm no genius, Jim, not like you and Sherlock. The two of you operate on a whole different level." For the first time in the conversation, the pain seemed to lift from John's face. It was replaced by a look of sheer awe. "It's amazing, watching your mind work. Really, I'm lucky I got that chance." He looked Jim dead in the eyes and suddenly all the pain was back. "Thank you, for giving me that chance."

John withdrew some bills from his wallet and set them on the bar before standing. Jim's mind was still reeling from everything he'd just revealed. (Not so brilliant now, that brain of his.) Only one thing stuck out in his mind. John was leaving. John was leaving him.

The tiny part of his brain that still functioned made a mental note of how ridiculous it was that he had left John to protect him and had expected him to be okay, but when John walked away from him, he nearly panicked. Before he could stop it his hand shot out to grab the other's arm, halting his movement.

"Don't."

The word came out more as a plea than anything else and Jim cursed himself for being so weak. John's face was riddled with surprise and a plea of his own. It was clear that part of the blonde wanted so bad for this to be Jim taking everything back. The other part just wanted Jim to let it go and stop torturing him. Every man had his limits, after all.

Jim couldn't stand it. He moved one hand up to grasp the collar of the sweater John was wearing, knotting his fingers into the fabric. When he spoke, his voice brooked no argument.

"Don't you ever think I don't love you again. You are _everything_ to me, John Watson."

And then he yanked the blonde man down to crash their lips together.

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John's back slammed into the pub's bathroom wall as the consultant criminal pressed after him, barely taking a moment to lock the door behind him. Their hands were everywhere, trying desperately to express the emotions they couldn't with words. Need, desire, love.

Lips crashed together with an almost vicious brutality. Their self-imposed separation was lighting up every little sensation now. When John tugged the hem of Jim's shirt out of his pants and his thumb snuck up under to brush lightly against the skin of his waist Jim's knees almost buckled and he moaned deep into the other's mouth. In turn, John swallowed the moan and only tried to pull Jim closer. They wanted to consume each other completely.

The bathroom itself was a less than glorious environment for their happy reunion, but it would serve their purpose. It was a single occupancy room, sparse and utilitarian. A urinal and toilet stood against one wall with the sink opposite. Jim had John pressed up between the two, the closest surface after entering. The safety hand rail bit into John's back but neither seemed to notice, nor did either spare much of a thought to the sanitation of their current position.

Jim's lips moved from John's mouth, along his jaw, and down his neck. There, he yanked the collar of John's button up to the side, sending buttons flying, and set about licking, kissing, sucking, and biting any piece of skin he could reach. The blonde's head rolled to the side to give his lover great access and, through slit eyes, caught their reflection in the mirror.

Their bodies were so closely pressed together that it was impossible to tell where one body ended and the other began. Their legs intertwined so that he couldn't identify which leg belonged to which individual. Jim's face was pressed into the side of John's neck and for a moment he mused that they looked like a single being. A sharp bite drew the blonde's thoughts back to their current situation and a gasp filled the air.

Jim's teeth bit down only briefly before the pressure was gone to be replaced by the soothing rasp of his tongue. His dark voice rumbled in a cooing sound. His eyes sought John's own in the mirror's reflection as he brought one leg up between them to press teasingly against the doctor's erection. Everything about him exuded the cold ferocity and danger that had gotten him so far in the criminal world. This was a man who inspired instant fear and gave grown men nightmares.

"Now everyone will know you belong to me. If I cannot stand to be away from you for your protection, I will have to consume you, make you so totally mine that no one will dare touch you again. You are mine, John Watson. Do you understand?"

"I've always been yours…and I always will be."

Any communication ceased as their lips crashed together once more. The doctor in John dimly registered the likelihood of his entire neck being bruised to near blackness in the morning, but the thought only made his smile into the kiss. It would be proof that this really happened; that he had Jim back. He was whole again.

Jim's hands wormed their way between the two men to reach John's top button, which would really be his fifth button if Jim hadn't sent the others shooting across the bathroom earlier. He tried to coax it back through its hole for approximately half a second before snarling and ripping through the last of John's shirt. He'd been out of contact with that smooth, tan skin for far too long. The last month had left him starving and thirsty like a man lost in the dessert. He wanted to taste and touch every inch of the glorious body in front of him.

If he were being completely honest, he would admit that he needed the reassurance that this was real just as much as John did. However, Jim hadn't made it to the top of the criminal world by being honest. Luckily for him, John knew him too well for such games. His arms came up behind the consultant, slipping under his dress shirt where it hung out of his pants and pulling him closer. The blonde bit down on the other's lip as he drug his fingers down Jim's back, nails digging in to leave long, painful marks.

Jim arched his back, inadvertently breaking off their kiss and groaned loudly as their hips ground together. John smirked and his eyes held a dark look that drove the brunette insane, or would have if he wasn't already there.

"That's what you get. Trying to leave me? I didn't appreciate it. You know you're going to have to pay for that, right? If I remember correctly, I did win you at an auction."

His hands gripped tightly on Jim's hips, rolling his own to create more friction between them. Jim's own hands were clenched around the fabric covering the doctor's biceps. His eyes fluttered as he struggled to hold back the moan. He pressed his nose into John's neck and nuzzled gently.

"I guess I should get started on my apology, then."

Jim slid down his lover's body, obscenely close, until he was squatting back on his heels, face level with John's crotch. Despite the discomfort of his current position, he wasn't about to let his knees touch the floor. He leaned forward to nuzzle John through his pants, eliciting a long moan from the other man. At this rate, someone was going to hear them before they even got to the main attraction.

His hands reached up to make short work of John's leather belt, though he didn't bother even pulling it from the loops of his belt. The button of the blonde's trousers, unlike those on his shirt, managed to stay attached despite Jim's rough treatment and the brunette was soon pulling John's trousers and underwear down to reveal his hard member, already dripping pre-cum.

Jim licked him lips in anticipation, having missed the sight of the beautiful organ. His eyes drifted up, admiring John's body along the way, to meet the other's hungry eyes. Pupils blown wide with desire, the blonde looked as if he would explode if the consultant didn't take him into his mouth right that second.

Who was Jim to deny him?

His first taste was as he ran him tongue along the bottom, base to tip, lapping away every bit of pre-cum he encountered. It was every bit as delicious as he remembered. Once he reached the tip, he made sure to drag the rough flat of his tongue across it. A glance upwards revealed that John's eyes were closed, head rolling back against the wall. His hands twitched as he resisted burying his fingers in Jim's hair.

He frowned at the show of self-control. That just wouldn't do. Quickly, he slipped two fingers into his own mouth and wet them as much as possible in a few seconds. His other hand stroked John so as not to raise the blonde's suspicion. As soon as he felt they were properly lubricated, or at least as much so as he could do with current circumstances, he returned his mouth to John's cock.

He slid the length into his mouth, tongue lapping at every inch. As he distracted John on one end, he reached his hand around to slide between the cheeks of John's arse. While the blonde noticed this, he didn't react much, even when Jim teased the rim of his hole with a single finger. His mind was much too occupied with what was going on with his front.

That was, at least, until Jim slid the first finger in. John's hips jolted forward, smoothly sheathing himself fully inside Jim's waiting mouth. Humming appreciatively around the blonde's cock, Jim slipped in a second finger and began a scissoring motion to prepare his partner for the next level. It wasn't long before the doctor's self-control snapped and those tan fingers were buried in black hair.

For his part, John was awash with physical stimulation. He'd always been rather mobile during anything sexual. Here, though, he was sandwiched between two unbelievable sensations. Pushing his hips forward slid him deeper into Jim's mouth and moving back pushed the fingers deeper into his ass. It didn't help matters that Jim obviously knew exactly what he was doing. If it weren't for his hands in the other's hair and the railing at his back, the ex-soldier likely would have lost his legs and slid to the floor.

He could feel the coiling sensation building in his stomach, the tell-tale sign of what was to come. He opened his mouth to warm Jim, but the words were stolen as the brunette gave and extra-strong suck, effectively turning whatever John was going to say into a long, drawn out moan. The blonde was right on the edge, ready to tip over, when Jim pulled back. His mouth released John's cock with a soft 'pop' and his fingers slid smoothly from the other's arse.

A whine escaped John's throat that he would have been horribly embarrassed by in any other situation. As it was, he was too focused on getting Jim back inside him to bother with such silly emotions. The criminal smiled lecherously up at the blonde before rising up to meet him in another kiss. As with previous times, John didn't seem to mind the taste of himself on Jim's lips.

Kicking off one leg of his trousers, John attempted to devour Jim's lips. The criminal didn't mind in the slightest as his own hands were busy pulling himself free of his pants. He pulled back long enough to spit into his own hand a couple of times and spread it over his own member. This may be improvised, but he wanted to make the experience as pleasant for John as possible and any lubricant was better than none.

He lined the head of his cock up with the other's entrance, John lifting the leg he'd freed from his trousers to rest atop the toilet. Slowly, he added pressure until he felt the bundle of nerves give way and allow him inside. John hissed in pain and the consultant paused, giving him time to adjust before pushing any further. Slowly, the tight heat of John's arse consumed him, testing his own control. It wasn't long before he was fully seated inside the other man.

Deep breathes were the closest he could come to keeping calm and he did so with his forehead resting upon John's shoulder, a now familiar mantle. There was little he wanted more than to just begin thrusting madly into the blonde, but that wouldn't do anything but hurt them both. It wasn't until he felt John's hips rock against his own that he began to move again. Soon, Jim's pre-cum would create enough lubricant to facilitate the break neck pace he so desired.

He hooked one arm under John's knee and pulled it up until the leg rested on his shoulder, forcing the blonde to lean back into the wall and affording a better angle for Jim's thrusts. They began slowly but picked up pace as he felt the tight warmth slicking up for him. Oh, God, how he had missed this…

It wasn't long before he was thrusting into the other man with abandon, both moaning wildly. Their panting filled the room along with the slap of flesh against flesh as they drove their hips together again and again. John used the wall as leverage to push back into Jim as hard as he could, meeting each powerful thrust with equal enthusiasm. In some dim part of his mind, Jim realized that anyone even walking past the bathroom door would be able to hear them but he really couldn't bring himself to care.

Let them hear. He'd been without his doctor for far too long to worry about some nobody sticking their nose in where it didn't belong. As long as they were uninterrupted, everything was fine. There were not enough threats in the world to describe what Jim would do if someone were to interrupt them now. Really, though, he couldn't concentrate on such things.

This time, Jim was the one to look sideways into the mirror. John's head was thrown back, mouth wide and face flushed with exertion. The brunette didn't look much better as he pounded away madly into the other's arse. God, how he had needed this. Perspiration dripped down both of their necks, giving their hair a damp, messy look.

It was sexy as Hell.

Reaching between them, Jim took hold of John's cock and began pumping in time to his thrusts, elevating the blonde's moans to a whole new level. Tan skin writhed beneath him and the criminal could feel as the muscles jumped and twitched at the promise of the approaching release. With a final bellow, the blonde came, shooting ropes of cum across his own chest and the front of Jim's dress shirt.

With John's arse tightening so deliciously around him, Jim didn't last much longer. Only a couple thrusts into the constricting heat and he was coming undone himself, groaning as he unloaded inside of his lover.

The two stayed there, panting, for several minutes, John's leg still slung over Jim's shoulder. He was sure to feel that in the morning. The brunette trailed lazy kisses along John's shoulder as he slowly set the limb down and slid out. His eyes rose to meet John's.

"I love you."

He'd said the words for the first time earlier in the bar and, as he had then, knew they were the truth as he spoke them. The feeling had been there for a while, but it took nearly losing John for him to realize was it really meant. The blonde just gave him a blinding smile.

"I love you, too, Jim."


	12. Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim seeks John's forgiveness, but he might not be going about it in the right ways.

hen John's eyes blinked open, he immediately wished he were still asleep. His head throbbed and any light at all only served to ramp up the pain. He groaned and threw an arm over his face, hoping to go back to sleep. Obviously, he wasn't as young as he used to be and he'd drunk more that he should have at the pub the night before.

His lips twitched as he thought of that night, how Jim had shown up out of nowhere. Their…reunion was memorable to say the least and exactly what they needed. John hummed in pleasure at the thought and reached an arm across the bed to search for the warmth of this partner. He and Jim had left the pub to return to Baker Street. (And have a few more rounds of sex before falling unconscious in John's bed.)

The edge of his mouth was just starting to pull down in a confused frown when his fingers brushed against skin. The bed dipped as Jim crawled back in beside him, pressing kisses to his still-closed eyes. Nimble fingers brushed against his temple and down his cheeks, easing away stress and seeming to draw the hangover right out of him. John peeked his eyes open to peer up at his newly-returned partner. Jim was smiling softly down at him.

"You're meant to still be asleep. With how much you drank last night, I expected you to be out till noon."

John's hand came up to skim the side of Jim's neck before fisting a hand in the other's hair and pulling him down. The blonde buried his nose under the other's chin and kissed the skin there lazily, nuzzling along his throat. He was awake, but that didn't mean he had any intentions of getting up…well, in a manner of speaking.

"Army. We'd try and drown ourselves almost every night and still had to report for duty at 0500. Oh, and Uni. I drank a lot in Uni. Built up a tolerance."

John felt the chuckle that bubbled up from Jim's chest. The criminal consultant was clearly amused by this hint of a wilder age in John's past. He would have to remember to ask Moran not to share any of the more embarrassing stories.

"Do you have any Irish in you?"

The question caught John off guard and he had to pause to think about it. His family had not been much into genealogy.

"I don't think so…"

"Would you like to?"

It was almost shameful how much joy there was on Jim's face at having been able to pull off his cheesy pick up line. John just groaned and nipped the man gently, not even hard enough to leave a mark.

"That was bad, even for you."

"Haven't you heard? I'm a bad man."

John's groan that time was more pronounced and he dropped his hand from behind his lover's head.

"I'm too hung over to deal with this."

The brunette just smiled at him and all but bounced across to bed to reach for a tray that John had failed to notice on the side table. It was laden with fruit and various baked goods. John thought he recognized Mrs. Hudson's strawberry scones and eyed them greedily. A plate of toast and a jar of jam also crowded the tray's surface. Jim's grin only widened as the doctor's stomach growled loudly.

"Mrs. Hudson helped me get everything together. She said that I better be coming back or she was going to send me the same way as her husband. Should I be worried?"

"Probably."

John snagged a scone and stuffed it in his mouth, finally sitting up to rest his back against the headboard. He almost moaned as the strawberry jam she mixed throughout the dough burst in his mouth. Jim set the tray over his knees and kissed the side of John's mouth, flicking a tongue out to remove a stray bit of jam.

"Keep making noises like that and we may have a repeat of last night…"

"Should I tell Sherlock the bathroom will be unusable for a while?"

The statement made Jim frown as he settled in beside the blonde, picking up a slice of apple and nibbling on one end.

"He won't be happy I'm back."

Now it was John's turn to frown.

"I thought you two were finally starting to get along."

"We were. Then I left and he understood and agreed with my reasons for doing so, even though it hurt you. I know him well enough to know that. I wanted to protect you and leaving was the best way of doing that. He and I both thought you would get over it. I couldn't stand watching you in that much pain, though. I can't live without you. So I've come back and, in the end, that means all the pain I caused you was pointless. That, to both Sherlock and myself, is unacceptable."

The warm, light-hearted atmosphere from earlier was gone, smothered under a blanket of painful memories of the past five weeks. Jim had gone morose, no trace of his usual vibrant attitude. His eyes were darkened and the hand holding the apple slice rested in his lap, forgotten. John eyed his lover, trying to decide whether or not to let him stew. Was he ready to forgive him?

The answer was yes. He couldn't stay mad at Jim, not with the look on his face. Instead, John leaned over and placed a sloppy, jam-covered kiss to his cheek. The reaction was immediate. With a jolt that nearly toppled the breakfast tray from off John's knees, Jim fell off the edge of the bed and ended up on his arse on the floor, staring at John in utter surprise.

"Is that what this is about? The cuddling and the breakfast? You're doing it because you feel guilty?"

Jim's eyes were downcast, reminding John distinctly of the time he'd stormed New Scotland Yard to return the doctor's mobile. With a sigh, the blonde shifted the tray of goodies onto the side table nearest and leaned across the bed to peer into Jim's face. He reached a hand out to tilt the other's chin up, warmth flooding through him at the sticky smear on his cheek.

"Once again, Jim, we are faced with the issue that, even though you are a genius, you are an utter idiot. You've already been forgiven. I'm just glad you're back."

There were still traces of doubt in Jim's eyes, but he rose up on his knees to kiss John anyway. Their lips moved against each other, tasting of jam and sugar. They kissed lazily for several minutes before breaking apart. Jim smiled at him, eyes now sparkling.

"I love you."

"I love you, too. Now come back to bed. I've only got," John glanced at the clock, "two more hours before I have to go to work."

Jim paused, having been in the middle of climbing back into the bed. John instantly felt suspicion stirring. The consultant hesitated only a moment before kissing him lightly on the lips and reaching past him for a piece of toast.

"I called the clinic earlier and let them know you'd be out. I thought you should get the rest. You've been driving yourself into the ground lately."

John just gaped at him, suddenly sitting up.

"But the clinic needs me! They call me in when they don't have someone to cover! I can't just call out like that!"

Jim just munched on the toast.

"Don't worry. I got someone to cover for you. Graves is an excellent doctor. Not as good as you, but that's to be expected. He's plenty good enough to fill in at a general practice."

John sighed and closed his eyes. The sentiment was sweet, really, and he appreciated the thought, even if Jim's methods were questionable. After all, he'd been living and working with Sherlock long enough to know when to just let something go. Geniuses though Jim and Sherlock were, they could be right idiots at times.

"I suppose one day out won't hurt, though I hope you haven't inconvenienced Graves too much with this."

The blonde could practically feel the air around them freeze with the tension that suddenly filled the room. His eyes snapped open to glare at the criminal consultant who managed to look sheepish and hopeful at the same time.

"What did you do?"

Jim coughed, clearly stalling.

"I may have, possibly, thought you needed a good amount of rest and there might have been some selfish motivation to spend time with you since it had been so long. It was done out of love, though, I promise."

John grit his teeth.

"What. Did. You. Do?"

Jim was looking anywhere but at the doctor.

"I called you out of work."

"Yes, we went over that."

"…For the rest of the week."

"Jim! I have bills! And responsibilities! You can't just do that without asking me first!"

The blonde's anger probably would have turned into a rant if the criminal mastermind hadn't turned a hurt puppy face towards the ground. His shoulders were hunched in an attempt to make himself look smaller. It was a common enough reaction when one was faced with the full force of Captain John Watson. It had been one of John's greatest assets in the RAMC.

Seeing that look on Jim though, made John immediately deflate. He sighed and reached out a hand to slide through Jim's hair. Leaning forward, he placed a kiss upon his brow.

"Just…ask me next time, alright?"

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"John! How good to hear from you! Want to get dinner?"

"Jim, I was just looking at the telly in the waiting room at work. Do you know what I saw?"

There was a pause.

"It's not as bad as it sounds-"

"The reported said it was a suspected terrorist attack!"

"Well that's their fault for not thinking before reporting. That's the problem these days, no one thinks anymore. What kind of self-respecting terrorist group would attack a Tesco's?"

John almost missed the few weeks after the two had gotten back together when Jim seemed to jump at any small sign of disapproval from the doctor. He'd seemed terrified of losing the man again, but this return of his usual sassy manner was not making the blonde's mood any better.

"I'm still wondering why you did! Somebody could have been hurt!"

"Please, John, you can hardly expect me not to have thought of that. I told the twins to only damage the equipment; no human casualties."

"The twins?"

"From my Deadly Dozen. Really, I must introduce you sometime."

"Deadly Dozen? Wha-You know, it's not even the point. The point is: Why in the Hell would you blow up a Tesco's?!"

"Is that what they're saying? How boring. I did not blow up a Tesco's. I simply eliminated those pesky chip n' pin machines."

A brief silence followed the statement. When John spoke again, it was with that dangerous kind of calm that meant all Hell was about the break loose.

"The news said the location hit was on Canal Street…I generally stop there on the way to work to grab lunch."

"Yes, well, the regular registers should still be perfectly operational. It shouldn't interfere with your routine in the slightest."

"Jim…This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the fact that I had a row with one of those very same machines just this morning, would it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

There was a long pause, stretching until Jim started to think that the other may have hung up.

"John?"

"We're not having dinner tonight."

"What? Why-"

"And you're going to reimburse Tesco's for the money needed to get new chip n' pin machines. I'll call you tomorrow."

Without any further goodbye, John hung up the phone, fuming. Only a minute later his phone buzzed with an incoming text message.

Money transferred. Those machines are still insufferable, though. Love you. –JM

With a small smile he fired one off in return.

Love you, too. Are you free for dinner tomorrow? –JW

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"Honestly, Anderson, sometimes I wonder how you managed to make it this far in life without killing yourself through sheer stupidity. I would have thought Darwinism would have caught up to you by now."

John heaved a sigh as Sherlock and Anderson got into yet another contest of insults. Really, he wasn't sure if he could pick one or the other as being more childish. It seemed that anytime the two were in the same room together they had to pick a fight. But, no, Sherlock was too insufferable to stop the insults and Anderson was too, well, Anderson to know when to just let it go and walk away. (Which didn't at all help the Sherlock situation.)

The occasion which brought them together this time was the body of a young teenager, perhaps 15 or so, found in a completely locked house. The house itself had been abandoned for some time and it had appeared as though no one had disturbed the original locks the owner had put on. The only reason the body had been found so quickly was that the owner had decided to fix the house up to try and sell. He had come by that morning to look at the state of things and to make a list of what needed to be done.

John's phone beeped and he flicked it open. The expected text from Jim made a ghost of a smile flash across his face.

Looking forward to tonight. Love you. –JM

As John fired off a text in return, he caught a couple of the uniformed Yarders whispering to each other and glancing in his direction. His brows knotted together. He'd been on his phone at crime scenes before. Surely it wouldn't make that much of a difference. The blonde almost jumped as Sherlock's voice came unexpectedly from right behind him. At some point, he'd apparently quit his spat with Anderson to turn his attention back to John.

"They believe your ties to Moriarty compromise you as a dependable consultant, that he has either corrupted you or that you've been hiding a dark side. The other theory, which is more popular I might add, is that he is taking advantage of your naïve and trusting nature. They seem to be under the impression that you think he can change."

"He has changed, I'll have you know. And I am not naïve!"

The look Sherlock gave him was condescending at best.

"Proclamations like that aren't going to help the situation, to be sure. Perhaps you should try using a few more facts and a little less blind denial?"

John bit back his report that he had plenty of facts and Sherlock could have a great time deducing just exactly where he could shove them. He was not Anderson. He would not rise to the challenge. When he did speak, though, his tone was still clipped with irritation.

"What about you, then? Solved the case already?"

This caused a huff of irritation to leave the brunette.

"Anderson in all his bumbling idiocy has made a mess of the scene with all his useless equipment. I gave him two minutes to clear it out or I start chucking it out the windows."

"Surely Lestrade isn't going to allow that."

"Certainly not. But the threat will still get him moving faster."

"Umm…Excuse me, Dr. Watson?"

One of the uniformed officers who had entered the room during their conversation stood awkwardly nearby. All of the other officers in the room were trying, and failing horribly, to pretend not to listen in.

"Yes?"

"There's a, uh, delivery for you, sir, at the police line."

John shot a questioning look at Sherlock but was simply ignored for his trouble.

"Alright. Lead the way then, I guess."

The trio headed outside to where the police tape cordoned off the area. Standing right outside of the police tape was a nervous-looking florist, large bouquet in hand. Much to John's horror and Sherlock's glee, the officer led them straight for him.

"This is Dr. Watson."

Relief shone clear on the florists face and he all but shoved the bouquet into John's arms. Clearly, he was not used to delivering flowers to crime scenes.

"For you, sir. The sender wanted to make sure you kept them away from," here he paused and checked a note, "Anderson as his face is, 'likely to put off the bouquet.' Other than that, he wishes to remain anonymous."

John shot a glare at Sherlock. If he had done this just to get a dig in at Anderson…But the consulting detective simply raised his eyebrows at the look and shook his head in that regal manner of his.

"Wrong genius. This will do nothing to win him back into my good books."

Despite the brunette's words, John's could pick up the traces of amusement hidden away in the angles of his face. Though John didn't have much of a fondness for big, public displays such as this, he understood that Jim did and so couldn't fault him. Just so long as Jim didn't start making this a regular thing.

Thanking the florist, John lead Sherlock back inside. He glanced around and finally settled for leaving the flowers in the kitchen, where they would be out of the way of the investigation and he could come back for them later. That taken care of, he turned back to his unruly genius of a flat mate.

"I'd reckon it's been about two minutes then, wouldn't you? Shall we go see how far along Anderson's got?"

A smile tugged at the edge of Sherlock's mouth.

"Oh, you must really dislike public displays if you're willing to throw someone else to the wolves just to divert attention."

Not leaving time for a retort, the brunette turned in a swirl of coat and ascended the stairs to the crime scene. Anderson was just moving out the last of his equipment when they arrived and sent Sherlock a heated glare. Lestrade just rolled his eyes from his position by the body.

"Alright, there you go. I've catered to your bloody whims. What can you tell me about what happened here?"

Clearly, the DI had about as little patience for Sherlock today as the younger Holmes had for Anderson. John supposed he could understand. Having to deal with the consultant so often had a way of wearing on the nerves. That is not, of course, to say that John would change him. He was still his best friend.

Sherlock, thankfully, ignored the DI's less-than-cordial tone and instead set about examining the crime scene. He buzzed about the room, energy radiating from his very pores. He was kneeling in front of the window, taking a closer look at something on the sill and completely ignoring the body, when the door opened and Donovan stormed in.

The woman appeared to be in an even worse mood than usual, which was saying something. Her usual frown was pulled down into a full blown scowl and her eyes glinted with anger. John had to hold back a sigh. It looked like he wouldn't be getting any breaks today. Her gaze only hardened upon seeing Sherlock.

"Oi! What's the freak doing here?"

The consultant barely spared her a glance.

"It's a pleasure as always, Donovan. How I have missed your sparkling personality."

"Oh, shut it, you! I bet that bloody flower shop downstairs is your fault!"

Now the brunette's gaze snapped to her and he rose to his full height.

"It's one bouquet."

Lestrade looked between the two.

"What flower shop?"

"So it is your fault. It looks like a garden exploded in the kitchen, sir. Flowers everywhere."

John moaned pitifully, praying to whatever deity may listen that this was just some cruel joke. Sherlock, however, was looking positively gleeful. Clue apparently forgotten, he crossed the room in three long strides to tower over the sergeant.

"Show me."

With obvious disgust, Donovan turned and headed back down the stairs. Sherlock followed eagerly after with the rest trailing behind like wayward ducklings. John almost didn't want to look. Donovan's yell of, "What the bloody Hell is this?" from the bottom of the stairs didn't help matters. The blonde's worst fears were confirmed as he stepped into the living room.

There were flowers everywhere. They littered the chairs and the countertops. Bouquets and arrangements lined the walls and were stacked in the corner.

As the group stood at the bottom of the stairs stunned by the floral assault, the front door opened and the same officer from earlier stepped inside with yet another display. Lestrade shouldered his way to the front and drew himself up.

"What's going on here?"

His tone was sharp and made the officer jump to attention, a sight that would have been funny in any other situation, especially considering that he was still carrying the flowers. As it was, though, John just wanted to die of mortification.

"Th-they just keep getting delivered, sir! I think every florist in London has dropped off a bouquet!"

Oh, yes. John would be having quite a chat with Jim about appropriate behavior.

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"I just don't get it! I mean, what am I doing wrong?"

Jim flopped exasperatedly into his plushy chair and rolled his head to the side to look at his companion.

"The problem is he always starts out seeming to enjoy it. How do I know what I'm supposed to do or not supposed to do? It's not like I've had a lot of experience when it comes to relationships." He pouted. "It's never been something I've been interested in, never seemed worth the effort. Now, I don't have the proper data."

He wrinkled his nose at the thought of how much that last part sounded like Sherlock. Their brief camaraderie, Jim didn't want to call it a friendship, had left him with several bad habits. He was shaken from his thoughts by several muffled grunts coming from the chair next to him.

"Oh! You're absolutely right. How could I forget my manners?"

He jumped out of his own chair to rip the duct tape off his companion's mouth. The middle-aged man spit out the wad of cloth and gasped for air. Really, some people could just be so dramatic. The man's dark hair was speckled with grey and a fold of stomach hung heavy over his belt. He wasn't fat, per se, but he could definitely benefit from a couple trips to the gym. His suit was rumpled and dirty, on the expensive side but not top tier. His fear filled eyes flickered around the room.

"Please, Mr. Moriarty! Please, I'll do anything. I'll give you whatever you want! Just don't kill me!"

Jim just gave an exasperated huff.

"Boring! You stole from me, Mr. Whinestone. Did you really think you'd be able to get away with that?"

"I'm so sorry! So sorry! I don't know what I was thinking! I promise it'll never happen again!"

"Oh, whatever. I'm not interested in talking about your petty problems right now. I have more important things to think about." He fell back into him chair and picked up a cup and saucer from the tea set placed between the two gentlemen. (Mr. Whinestone wouldn't be getting any tea, seeing as his arms and legs were duct taped to his chair.) "This issue I'm having with John; I need it taken care of. You're married, correct, Mr. Whinestone?"

The unfortunate businessman nodded dumbly, clearly not knowing exactly where this was going. When Moriarty's men had shown up and grabbed him, he'd been sure he was going to die. Now he was sitting with the man he'd never met and talking about his relationship? It made no bloody sense. Jim, though, seemed to think it was a natural setting for such a conversation.

"And you're happy, you and the missus?"

"I, uh, like to think so. We've been married almost twenty years now, together for twenty-three. Please, she'll be worried about me."

Jim nodded thoughtfully, completely disregarding the last bit of the other's statement.

"How do you do it?"

"I'm sorry?"

The mastermind made a frustrated gesture with one hand, the other keeping his tea steady.

"How do you keep her happy? How do you tell when you should do something or not do something? How do you even know what it is you're supposed to do?"

His companion blinked several times, still trying to wrap his head around the situation.

"We, um, talk about it? I guess?" Jim's disapproving and condescending look had him scrambling for a better answer. "Big picture things, I mean. Like, we talk about it if we're planning a holiday or something. And we do a date night! Every week there's a night we set aside to go out together. It keeps the romance alive, you know?"

Mr. Whinestone took Moriarty's thoughtful nod as approval of sorts and kept going. Right now, this insane conversation was the only thing between him and a surely painful death.

"The important thing to remember is that you have to make them feel appreciated."

He didn't realize his mistake until Jim shot up from his chair to tower over him. His expression snapped from one of thoughtful preoccupation to livid anger. His entire body quivered with built up aggression and Mr. Whinestone could do nothing but cower before him.

"You think I do not show John my appreciation? I lavish him with attention. He is my world and I treat him as such! Last month he had a row with a chip n' pin machine! He's a full grown man and he can't even use an automated teller!" He blew air heavily out of his nose, clearly a sign of amusement. However, it lasted only a moment before the displeasure was back, this time mocking.

"Do you know what I did? No? Oh, come on, surely you can guess." He paused only a moment, not long enough for the other to actually form a response. "I blew it up!" The last word was shouted, causing it to ring throughout the room. Matthew Whinestone jumped in his chair. His terror wouldn't have let him speak even if he'd known what to say. Instead, Jim's voice continued to reverberate around the room.

"That, however, is apparently considered, 'a bit not good.' Instead of being happy with the gesture, he demands I fiscally compensate the store and ensure that everything gets fixed. Apparently the news reported it as a suspected terrorist's attack, totally blew it out of proportion." His opinion of the news station which had broken the story was clear. He glanced at Matthew and grinned insanely, winking.

"I dealt with them already, you needn't worry. Still, I thought my next gesture should be something a little more traditional. So, of course, I sent him flowers! Everyone likes flowers, right?"

He looked at Mr. Whinestone expectantly and the man could only nod dumbly. He was terrified of exciting this man's rage any more.

"Right. So I commission an arrangement from every florist in London, every one! Some of them were rather reluctant, especially since I was sending them to a crime scene, but I took steps to convince them all." He looked smug for half a second before he seemed to be struck by a realization. "Oh! Did I tell you he solves crimes? Well, Sherlock solves crimes, but John helps! He blogs about it too, and he's a doctor!"

Pride shone out of every pore as Jim talked about John. It was clear that he thought the world of the other man. Mr. Whinestone hated to admit it, but he recognized the look. It was the same one he wore when talking about his wife. Maybe, just maybe, he could get out of this alive.

"Maybe he didn't like you interfering with his work? How would you feel if he showed up without warning during one of your jobs?"

The thoughtful look was back, which he counted as a good sign, and Jim sank back into his chair.

"It wouldn't be good."

"Exactly."

"But I've shown up at a crime scene personally before and he didn't get mad at me!"

For just a moment, the businessman imagined his captor as a pouty child. It didn't make him feel any better.

"Well, what was different about that time?"

This made the man stop for a moment.

"Sherlock had already solved it…and I issued a death threat to Donovan." His face lit up like Christmas. "Donovan had insulted John and I defended him! It was like when I was kidnapped and he tracked me down!"

Whinestone didn't even want to think about what it would take to kidnap the criminal mastermind. Furthermore, if he was this insane on his own, he'd hate to see what the man he'd fallen in love with must be like.

"Something similar happened with me and my wife. You have to find a balance between showing your affection and invading the other's space. After all, you may be in a relationship, but you can't consume each other's lives. It's not healthy and it will lead to more strife down the road. Each member must have the freedom to do their own thing from time to time."

"But then how am I supposed to show my affection for him if I have to let him do his own thing?"

"As I said, it's all a balance. Maybe instead of sending flowers from every shop in London, you leave one for him to find when he gets home from work. Instead of blowing up a chip n' pin machine, you encourage him to go to the little farmer's market down the way or you surprise him by picking up the groceries for him every once in a while."

More nodding. Nodding was definitely good.

"You mentioned that you and your wife have a regular date night. Doesn't that get boring after a while? Don't tell me you've been just doing dinner for the past twenty years."

"No, it's important to change it up. We don't do something outlandish every time, but I try and make sure that we keep things interesting. Sometimes I take her out for dinner on a river boat, so it's not the same old boring restaurant. Just every so often, it's important to switch things around and do something extra special."

He could practically hear the grinds working in Moriarty's head. A grin slipped slowly across his face, spreading inhumanly wide. He clapped his hands together and did a little twirl.

"You are absolutely right, Mr. Whinestone, absolutely right! I have just the thing! Thank you, truly." Turning, he strode towards the door, a bound in his step. Just as he reached for the knob, he turned back. "Oh, and Mr. Whinestone? My condolences to your wife."

He was confused for half a second before the bullet entered his brain.

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To: Seb-Dear

From: The Great and Powerful

Subject: Supply and Schedule for the Week

Seb~!

I've hardly seen you this week! It's a tragedy! We will have to work on improving such arrangements in the future! Have you missed me?

We have a full plate this coming week! Your schedule is attached. I know you hate it there, but I really do need you to take that trip to Syria. It's a small problem now, but it'll prove to be a much larger one if we let this go on. How dull. Also, make sure to make special arrangements for Ms. Conway at next Thursday's meeting. I need to send a message to my other investors and her, frankly appalling, flirtations make her an excellent example.

I need you to choose one of the Dozen to check up on that forgery scheme in Wales. They have been silent for far too long. Perhaps, The Duchess? If so, send someone with her for security. Jezebel would do nicely as well. I just feel this job could use a feminine touch.

Grocery List:

-38 M16's

\- 50 WWII style hand grenades

\- 15lbs of C4

-Peanut butter, creamy

-The head of Francis Scott Carter

-25 piranha

-A box of those chocolate biscuits I like so much

-5 gal of invisible ink

-1,500 sticky notes, preferably in a variety of colors.

Ta, Seb!

-The Magnificent M

P.S. Could you pick up some caramel apple pie ice-cream as well? I've been craving.

P.P.S. Mr. Whinestone is in Meeting Room 3. Be a dear and send someone to clean him up, would you?

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To: You Are Not Oz

From: Don't Call Me Dear

Subject: Re: Supply and Schedule for the Week

Jim,

Schedule is fine. I'll take care of it. I am not, however, going to Syria. We talked about this. I'll send the twins, though. They are more than capable of handling the situation.

Speaking of the twins, what is this they're telling me about the chip n' pin explosion last month? I thought you said we weren't involved in that. According to Kili, not only did you order them to do it, you ordered D to help them with the explosives. This is on top of the fact that Graves is still complaining about that week you had him working at the GP. What the fuck are you trying to pull, Jim?

I'm not even going to ask what you need that many sticky notes for. Whatever it is, do not involve the Dozen. I'm so done with this shite.

-Moran

P.S. They don't start making that flavor this early in the year.

P.P.S. That was three days ago, Jim! Lucky for our clean-up crew, I've already had it taken care of.


	13. Noted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets a rather unexpected greeting upon arriving home from the clinic.

It'd been a long day at the surgery. John was tired. Sherlock had kept him up late the night before on a case and his shift had started at 6am. True, it was only 4 in the afternoon now, but that didn't keep John from hoping for a few hours of blissful sleep before the evening started.

Jim had warned him earlier in the week that he had something planned, though he wouldn't specify what. The last time Jim had kept his plans from John a secret, the doctor had to explain to Molly why her cadavers had been removed from their designated slots and arranged in a heart shape, so forgive him for being a bit suspicious. Granted, the time before that, Jim had moved into 221C, so John supposed he couldn't be totally skeptical.

Still, as he approached the door to the Baker Street flat and saw a Post-It note stuck to the door, he only felt puzzled. Peeling the note off, he fought against the grin that tugged at his lips. Oh, Jim…

_Welcome home_

_From your long day._

_I know you're tired,_

_But let's play a game._

_Upon your chair_

_Is a clue._

_It will tell you_

_What to do!_

Chuckling quietly to himself, John tucked the note into his bag and headed inside. He was surprised to find a second note attached to the bottom of the banister leading up the stairs. He paused to read it.

_I so hate to interrupt our game,_

_But I wanted to take a moment to call you some names._

_Nothing funny, and nothing rude,_

_Just sweet nothings like honey, dear, or beau._

Now John was rolling his eyes. Count on Jim to be so sappily romantic. The first time John had encountered Jim's truly romantic side, the side that loved puns and cheesy pick-up lines, he'd been shocked. He hadn't imagined it from the criminal mastermind who had very nearly brought Sherlock to his knees. (And very well might have if he hadn't lost interest.)

Still, he supposed it suited the man. It was, after all, just another way to keep everyone around him off balance. Besides, John would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it.

Leaving the note where it was, he continued up the stairs, only to encounter more notes on the wall. Not all of them rhymed, instead displaying simple messages like, 'I love your smile,' and, 'You're awkward, but in a cute sort of way. Like a lift ride, but with puppies.' John couldn't help but laugh aloud at that last one. 221B itself was covered in Post-It notes. They were stuck on the walls and the windows, the sofa and the coffee table. Even the skull had a note stuck to its forehead.

Sherlock sat in his plush gray chair, working away at his violin as if it were the only thing in existence. He would have looked downright majestic of it weren't for the Post-It's stuck to, not only the violin itself, but Sherlock's hair and suit. The man appeared not to notice.

In fact, he appeared so out of it that John could only assume he was working on something for the case and hadn't come out of his mind palace long enough to even notice that he was covered in notes. He'd hear about that later for sure. Now though, he only pulled out his phone and snapped a picture. He'd want to remember this later.

For now, though, he turned to his own chair. Unlike the rest of the apartment, his chair seemed void of all notes. Odd, he was sure the note downstairs had directed him to this the seat. Puzzled, he checked the back, no note. He kneeled down on the floor and checked the bottom, still no note. He picked up the Union Jack pillow and looked at the seat underneath, nothing.

Now John was confused. Where was the note? Could Jim have meant a different chair? Unlikely, the only other chairs in the flat were Sherlock's and the sofa. Obviously, Sherlock had been sitting in his chair since before the notes were placed and the sofa could hardly be considered solely John's. (Though, he supposed, the note on the front door didn't exactly specify that.) Absentmindedly, John flipped the pillow in his hands over, thinking.

As he did, though, something caught his eye…Oh. He was such an idiot.

The Post-It was stuck to the bottom of the pillow, a smiley face accompanying the message.

_Knock, knock_

_Who's there?_

_Nacho_

_Nacho who?_

_NACHO HOUSEKEEPER!_

_(Go see Mrs. Hudson.)_

Really, Jim? Some criminal mastermind you are…

Setting the pillow back on the chair, he headed to his landlady's apartment. It only took a few moments after his knock for the older woman to open up. She beamed out at him, a biscuit tin in her hands which she held out to him.

"That's quite a keeper, you've got there, dear. He let me in on what he's got planned. Here, these are to help you along." She smiled as John took the tin from her. "You know, if my husband had done more things like this for me, he probably could have avoided that whole ordeal in Florida. That's the past, though, I suppose. You two have fun!" She winked at John's shocked face and retreated back into 221A, leaving the blonde standing awkwardly in the hall.

For a lack of anything better to do, he opened up the tin of biscuits and peeked inside. They were shortbread, his favorite. He snagged one and flipped over the lid, starting to get used to this game with Jim. Sure enough, another note was stuck to the inside.

_A stroll through the park_

_Is just what you need._

_So take a look around_

_You never know what you might see._

There was a park within walking distance of Baker Street, perhaps that was the one Jim meant? John would often cut through it on his way to the surgery and, before he had moved in, Jim had surprised him there with tea on more than one occasion. Since he'd moved in, the man would simply walk with John to work, leaving him with a good-bye kiss at the door. The nurses were still teasing the blonde over it…and Sarah couldn't look him in the face anymore.

Figuring he had nothing to lose, John headed out.

It took him about ten minutes to reach the park in question, St. Regent's. His eyes swept the area as he stepped onto the grounds. It was one of the newer parks in the area and was only about two blocks in size. He could see the children's playground that dominated the center of the park, a simple walking path running around the perimeter. A couple families were making use of the swings and slides, a young man soaked in sweat was jogging the path and a few other individuals sat of periodic benches around the place.

Out of habit, and some necessity from his long day, John headed towards the little cart off to the side of the main path which sold drinks and snacks. While he was normally a tea drinker, he needed the kick that the coffee would provide if he was hoping to make it through the evening. As he placed his order, he looked around once more for Jim. Perhaps he thought John wouldn't make it to the park so quickly…

"Looking for someone?"

The man who had spoken was leaning back as he sat on the bench next to the coffee cart, long legs extended out in front. While not nearly as tall as The Gollum, he was clearly at least six foot, and lean in a muscular sort of way. His tan skin gave away his Latino heritage and had a light spattering of facial hair on his upper lip and chin. He grinned lazily in John's direction. He was dressed in jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Clearly, this was not a man who worried about much in life.

"Uh…Yeah, my boyfriend."

John sipped his coffee awkwardly. Was this guy hitting on him? Not for the first time, he wished he had Sherlock's ability to deduce any situation. Though, now that he thought about it, Sherlock's lack of understanding when it came to sentiment and feelings might not be very helpful.

"Ah, so you must be John, then."

The doctor's eyes snapped back to the man, who was still grinning at him, though John was starting to get the feeling that was just his natural expression and had nothing to do with the blonde himself. The man gestured with one arm, which had been spread across the back of the bench, for John to take a seat. As John's settled in beside him, still wary, he jerked his head toward the playground.

"You see the one on the monkey bars? He's mine. Cute, isn't he?"

John looked over, spotting the boy in question. He looked like a carbon copy of his father, maybe 7 or 8 years old. He wore a bright red Transformer's t-shirt and seemed to be having the time of his life. The blonde glanced at the man beside him. He seemed so…young. He wouldn't have expected him to have a son.

"He looks just like you."

"Thanks. Are those cookies?"

The question caught John off guard and he glanced at the man. He only had a faint accent, but it wasn't American. He hadn't expected the American lingo. He glanced down at the tin still clutched in his hand.

"Yeah. Shortbread. You want one?"

"Always. Thanks, man." He snagged a biscuit from the proffered tin. "I'm Francisco, by the way. I work for Slim Jim." He dug through his pockets and came up with a crumpled Post-It note. "This is from him."

Taking the note, John was surprised to find the message scribbled out, but he was still able to read it.

_An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth_

_Wheels keep on turning, this is the truth_

_Over-looking London, is a sight to behold_

_The man who will meet you has a story to be told_

He flipped it over to look at the back. The handwriting he found there was definitely not Jim's.

_Go to London Fresh, instead. D never misses his 5:30 appointment, not even for the boss. Also, he hates the Eye of London._

Francisco leaned over to look at the note in his hand, even though John was pretty sure he had been the one to alter it. After a moment, the lanky man heaved himself to his feet.

"Well, junior over there is going to start acting up if I keep sitting out. I'll check you later."

And then he was off, leaving John stunned yet again. Where did Jim find these people?

Shaking the thought off, John looked at the note again. London Fresh, huh? Guess he should probably figure out where that was. Withdrawing his phone from his jacket pocket, the doctor took a leaf from Sherlock's book and pulled up Google. Within two minutes he had turn by turn directions and a picture of the store front.

According to its website, London Fresh was a relatively new company that had only been open for a few years. They specialized in organics yogurts, using ingredients that came from local farms. The shop front also had what was apparently a very excellent frozen yogurt bar. According to the online reviews, which John looked at while walking, the fan favorite was the Tropical Sweet Heat.

It took almost thirty minutes for John to reach the store, walking through the door at exactly 5:24. The place was modern in design, with an ice-cream style counter next to the register against the far wall and some coolers along the side wall which housed different yogurts, both regular and frozen. The other wall had a high-top counter running its length with stools so that customers could sit down and several tables took up the center of the shop. It wasn't a large establishment, but it didn't feel crowded either. There was only one couple in the establishment, sitting at a table near the door. They didn't even look up when John entered.

As the doorbell chimed, the curtains behind the register shifted and a man stepped out of what was obviously the back. The shape of his eyes and his skin tone hinted at something exotic, but John couldn't quite place where he might be from. When he spoke, though, it was without an accent.

"Hello! Welcome to London Fresh! How may I help you?"

"Uh, hi." He shifted nervously, not really sure what to do. "I think I'm waiting for someone."

"You think?"

"Yeah, it's…complicated." John approached the counter, feeling a tad awkward talking to a complete stranger about his game with Jim, even if it was in an obtuse manner. Still, the note had implied that the man he was meeting came here often…if this man was an employee, he might know who he is. Withdrawing the note from his pocket, he checked the name again. "A…friend sent me here to meet a man named…D? Apparently he's a regular?"

The man's eyes lit up in recognition.

"Yeah, D's a regular. Comes practically every day, actually." He gestured John to one of the tables near the counter. "That's his usual table, feel free to have a seat. D'll probably be showing up any minute now. Can I get you anything? It's a pretty hot day out."

"Sure. Online it said that you're Tropical Sweet Heat was good. I guess I'll try that?"

"Excellent choice. I'll have it right out. I'm Alan, by the way. I own the place."

As Alan busied himself behind the counter, John took a seat at the table he'd indicated. The door chime rang just as Alan was pressing the last of the frozen yogurt into a cup. He looked up at the door and the smile that crossed his face was nearly blinding. It was quickly smothered, though, as he attempted to put back up a professional face.

John twisted around in his seat to look at whoever it was that had entered. He wasn't tall, maybe only a few inches taller than John himself, but he was powerfully built and his dark skin displayed his African heritage. He had facial hair in the form of a well-trimmed mustache and goatee. He couldn't have been older than his late twenties, much like the man from the park.

Living with Sherlock for so long had led to John picking up a bit of deductive skill, though not nearly as much as his flat mate, which meant he didn't miss the small twitch of the new comer's lips before he tried to squash it down with a serious expression. Clearly, there was something going on between this man and the shop owner.

"D! It's good you're here! This man said he was here to meet you. I'll go grab your usual."

The look D leveled at him could only be described as a glare. John felt distinctly uncomfortable as the other sat down, but tried not to let it show.

"Hi, I'm John-"

"I know who you are. What are you doing here?"

"Uh…Jim's been leaving me notes, telling me where to go. The guy in the park told me to come here instead of the Eye of London. Fernando?"

D's face seemed to clear somewhat and his eyebrows shot up.

"Francisco?"

At John's affirmative nod, D's face cleared completely and he broke out into a grin that seemed to stretch across his face. He laughed briefly and slapped John on the back, thankfully on the side of his good shoulder. Where he'd been stock still before, now the man seemed totally animated. The sudden change reminded John much of Jim himself.

"Shit, man! If I'd known 'cisco had sent you I never would'a given you a hard time! If he trusted you, you must be ai-aight."

As quick as it had before, D's demeanor shifted again, this time to the cool seriousness of when he'd first walked in. John glanced up to see the cause of the shift was Alan's approach with a cup of frozen yogurt for the man. It reminded John that he had yet to try his own. Picking up his plastic spoon, he took a bite as he watched the other two interact.

Alan was shooting small, shy smiles at D, while the other was doing his best to keep a calm exterior and act as indifferent as possible. They were so clearly dancing around each other that it made John want to laugh. On the plus side, the yogurt was fantastic. It started out sweet before following the flavor up with just enough kick to keep you on your toes without throwing you over. He could see why people liked it. He covered his amusement at the not-couple's antics by taking another bite. As soon as Alan stepped away, D was leaning across the table.

"Ok, so let's keep this short. No offense, but I can't have you throwing me off my game here."

"By all means."

D pulled a Post-It out of his pocket, this one not as crumpled as the one John got from Francisco, and slid it across the table. John plucked it from the shiny surface and read it to himself.

_Take a look outside_

_There awaits your ride_

_Within there is a surprise_

_Is it me or are you also tired of all these rhymes?_

John had to chuckle at Jim's sense of humor. A glance at the front window showed that a black car with tinted windows had, indeed, rolled up outside. Was Jim watching him or had he just timed it with D's visit? How had he even known Francisco was going to send him here? John doubted he'd ever know the answers, or that he even really wanted to.

He still had a few bites of the frozen yogurt left, and figured he'd stick around to finish. As he took another bite, D leaned forward again in a conspiratorial manner.

"Look, before you go, I had a quick question, about you and the boss man."

"Ok, shoot."

"Alright, so, clearly, you're his bottom bitch-"

"What? I'm his bottom what?"

John wasn't sure if he should be insulted or not. The man had said it in such an off-hand way that he really just couldn't be sure. D looked a tad startled at his outburst before rolling his eyes with a mutter of, 'White people,' under his breath.

"The boss man is a thug, no doubt about that, and thugs have ho's. You with me?"

"I guess…"

"Good. So, when a thug has a favorite ho, that's called a bottom bitch. This is his girl that'll run with him and get dirty, you got it? Sometimes, she's called his old woman, but that bitch ain't gonna run with him. She's gonna hold down the house, yeah? You don't seem the house-holding type. So you're the bottom bitch."

It probably should have bothered John that D kept using she in an analogy that was supposed to be about him, but he really couldn't bring himself to care. His head was still swirling a little from the explanation. He just nodded dumbly.

"Anyway, what I wanted to ask was, how did you know? Did it just click with you that he was the one? What?"

Whatever question John had been expecting; it wasn't that one. He scrambled to regroup his thoughts.

"Oh, well, I guess…There was always this attraction, I suppose. Physically, I mean. It wasn't until that night in the bar when I saw him being all…not homicidal, that I really started falling for him. It was amazing how different he could be. You know, when he wasn't trying to kill me. After that first time, there was a certain kind of chemistry, though, yeah. Things felt…right."

D's eyes lingered on Alan as he helped another customer.

"Yeah…I think I understand…"

John couldn't help but smile at the two and went to stand.

"Well, it looks like my ride is here so I'd better go. It was good to meet you."

"Yeah, you too."

D jerked his head at the blonde in what seemed like an approving manner and the doctor took his leave. Stepping out the door, he marveled at how strange his day was becoming. Really, though, he should be used to odd days, between Sherlock and Jim.

As he approached the black car on the curb, the back door popped open. Sliding in, he pulled the door shut behind him and turned to find a quite unexpected sight.

"Hello, again."

Anthea sat at the other end of the bench, typing away at her phone as usual. She glanced up briefly to give him that tight lipped smile of hers. She was dressed in all black as usual, with one knee draped casually over the other.

John gaped at her.

"Do you just work for all the geniuses, then?"

"Hardly." She glanced up again to level him with a look that clearly pitied his slowness. "I would never work for Sherlock Holmes."

"Right, of course not. Who in their right mind would ever work for Sherlock Holmes?"

That earned him another pointed look.

"So, do I get to at least know where I'm going this time? No, wait, let me guess…Abandoned warehouse? A factory, maybe?"

"I've been told to take you to the pub where you and Moriarty first met. Now, if you don't mind, I really do need to reply to this…"

Ten or so minutes later had them pulling up in front of the pub. Anthea held a Post-It out to him as he moved to exit the vehicle. As soon as he was on the curb, though, the car pulled away. John shook his head before reading the note.

_You can see me, but I can't see you_

_Everything within me is accurate and true_

_Clear in the front and silver in the back_

_If I'm broken I just multiply_

_And become as sharp as a tack._

_(I really need to stop rhyming.)_

John's brows furrowed as he thought over the message. Clearly, it was supposed to be something that was connected to the pub. Why else would Jim have had Anthea give him this message at this location. Suddenly, it clicked and John could feel his cheeks heating up as he thought back on the night when he and Jim had gotten back together.

Of course.

The mirror.

Despite the fact that no one other than Jim and John(and probably Sherlock) knew exactly what had happened that night, John avoided eye contact as he wove between the tables and toward the restrooms in the back hallway. In truth, that probably only drew more attention his way, but it was the early evening and there weren't many patrons in the pub yet anyway.

Entering the bathroom, John immediately saw the Post-Its attached to the mirror. There were several arranged in a heart shape with a single note stuck in the middle. The ones forming the heart each had a little cartoon and saying that had clearly been drawn by Jim himself. One had a heart and a flaming match which read, 'You set my heart on fire.' Another had a T-rex staring worriedly up at a comet. The caption for that one read, 'You are my rock.' John was starting to wonder if Jim could get any cheesier when he saw the one that read, 'You are my sunshine,' with a cartoon sun, complete with smiley face.

A grin painted on his face, John collected each of the notes. It was awkward to carry them, but he couldn't resist the urge to keep them, even with all the ones he was going to have waiting for him back at the flat. (That is, of course, if Sherlock didn't burn them all in a fit of pique after discovering the ones stuck to his hair.) He removed and read the center note last.

_It's no longer home_

_That place has been taken_

_It possesses a room where my world was shaken_

_The door is locked, but if I'm not mistaken_

_The key waits with one of another nation_

_(Ok, this was a riddle. You can hardly expect me NOT to have rhymed.)_

John supposed that was a fair point, although he didn't have anything against the rhyming to begin with. He thought it was cute and kind of sweet. All in all, it was a very Jim thing to do. Exiting the bathroom and walking back through the pub, John thought over the riddle's meaning.

The first few lines seemed to indicate where he needed to go, while the last few seemed to be about who he needed to find once there. A practical man, the doctor decided that one puzzle at a time was plenty to deal with. 'It's no longer home…" Perhaps it was referring to Jim's old flat? He had said repeatedly after moving in to 221C that it was him new home. Another blush painted John's cheeks as he thought about what the part of the riddle where Jim mentioned his world being shaken could mean.

Honestly, couldn't that man stop bringing up their sex life every chance he got? It embarrassed John a lot more than the riddles did. A voice in the back of the doctor's head, which sounded suspiciously like Jim, suggested that perhaps that was rather the point. He told the voice to shut up.

As John made his way down the street, Jim's old flat really wasn't too far away, he thought about the second part of the riddle. Clearly, he was meant to meet with someone to get the key to the flat. He'd had one back when Jim was still living there, but had gotten rid of it when the man had moved out. The note indicated it was a foreigner, so that'd probably help him narrow it down. Still, John hoped whoever he was supposed to meet found him first.

It took about fifteen minutes for John to walk to Jim's old flat. A smile tugged at his lips as he thought back on the first time he'd made the walk. He and Jim had been practically all over each other. Their romance had sparked in the pub and the entire walk to the flat was a stumbling mass of passionate kisses and libido-fueled groping. If you'd dropped John off at the pub again the next day and asked him to find Jim's flat, he probably wouldn't have even been able to tell you which direction to go.

"Oh, yah! Jim say you go red like unt tomato!"

John jerked out of his thoughts and stared wide eyed at the smiling gentleman before him. He was…gorgeous. He had platinum blonde hair that hung down in waves around his shoulders and sparkling blue eyes. He was tan, tall, and built like an Olympic athlete. His accent said Germany. If John had to guess as to the man's profession, he'd say model.

In short, he was the kind of man that you noticed, even in a crowd. So it surprised John that he hadn't seen the man at all until he'd popped up in front of him, even if he was deep in thought. He had, after all, been at least trying to keep an eye out for the man mentioned in the note. How the Hell did this guy appear out of nowhere?

With a flourish, the man produced a bronze key from the pocket of his jacket, which appeared to be military in style. Its shade of dark green and the heavy woolen fabric clearly drew from the idea of a dress uniform. Something about it, though, told John that this particular outfit was a lot easier to move around in.

"So, here ist your key. I have ze Post-It here as vell."

Ok…Now the accent was just getting ridiculous. Still, he said nothing as he took the note and the key, just giving the man a bit of an odd look and a muttered, "Thanks." The foreign man smiled and waved his thanks off.

"Ze Boss vill have mien head if I don't complete ze mission. Eyes always gets ze job done. It keeps me valuable."

"Oh…good, then."

With a finger wave and a twirl, the man spun around and disappeared into the crowd. One second he was walking away, the next he was gone. John stared after him for a few moments before shaking his head and looking down at the key. He supposed that kind of man would hold a certain appeal to Jim as an employee. He flipped the note over to read it.

_Go up and check the view_

_You might find something new_

_(I really can't seem to get away from these rhymes.)_

This clearly pointed John in the direction of the balcony that stretched out from Jim's living room. It took him only a few minutes to make it up the stairs and into the flat. All in all, it was almost the same exact way it had been the last time John was there, ready for life. It reminded the doctor of when Jim had told him that he had to be ready to move at any time because a particular living arrangement had been compromised. He kept flats and houses scattered all across London that he could have ready at a moment's notice. John guessed this was one of them.

Making his way across the tastefully decorated living room, he pushed open the glass doors which lead out onto the balcony. Two French café-style chairs and a table sat off to one side, but the majority of the deck was clear. He and Jim had eaten breakfast out there more than once after a night of enjoying each other's…company. The Post-It stuck to the railing immediately caught his eye.

_I'm not an airplane,_

_But I can fly in the sky_

_I'm not a river,_

_But I'm full of water_

_What am I?_

_(Ha! See? I knew I could do it!)_

Now, John had always been a very practical man. He worked hard and problem solved when he needed to, but he didn't have Sherlock's fascination with puzzles. So, when he looked at this note in his hands, he didn't have the slightest idea what the answer to it was. His first thought was a water balloon, as balloons fly and water balloons are full of water, but quickly dismissed it as, once you put water in them, the balloons no longer floated.

He nearly had a heart attack when a figure swung down off the roof and onto the balcony. His hand immediately flew to his waistband, looking for a gun that wasn't there. The girl, as she was revealed to be, showed no signs of being at all disturbed by his readiness to fight. If there was anything the military had taught him, it was that women could be every bit as dangerous as men. He also didn't relax when she waved at him excitedly. Could be this was one of Jim's people, could be it wasn't.

"Hi! I'm Jezebel! I saw you at the slave auction! The one where they were trying to kill Moriarty? You. Were. AWESOME! I mean, I was hiding out with Spinner in the rafters until things really got started, but I could still see what was going on with the auction. You and Seb were all cool and playing it off. I can totally see why Moriarty likes you. Which, by the way, I totally ship. You and Moriarty, I mean. Cutest. Couple. EVER!"

She was beaming at John now, who wasn't sure whether to be flattered or terrified. Her long black hair jumped with her movement and animated gesturing. She was clearly Asian, though John wouldn't have been able to tell you from which country. Instead, he just smiled nervously.

"Um…thanks?"

That seemed all the encouragement the young woman, she couldn't have been more than 25, needed. She was off on another tangent of quick speech and wild gesticulation.

"When you two broke up right after, it was awful! I mean, not only were you two no longer together, but the backlash was something else! Moriarty was in a right mood! He was taking it out on anyone and everyone! Even the Deadly Dozen wasn't off limits!"

"Wait, the Deadly Dozen?"

If possible, her face lit up even more.

"Yeah! That's what Moriarty named us! We're his most trusted minions! We get the job done when no one else can! It's like the A-Team, but there are more of us."

"So you're part of the Deadly Dozen?"

She nodded enthusiastically.

"Oh, yeah. There's me and Moran, of course. He's like our leader. He brings us the missions from the boss, though sometimes we get our missions directly, like this one. Moriarty told me to hire a Sky Writer, you know, those planes that write messages in the sky with their exhaust?"

John could only nod along dumbly.

"See, the answer to the riddle of that Post-It," she pointed at the one in John's hand, "is a cloud. So, the Sky Writer was supposed to give you the next clue. Only…I really, really wanted to meet you. I mean, I'd seen you before, but we hadn't met yet. I felt like it was super rude of me. Apparently, Moriarty figured it out because he sent me this, instead."

She held up a fortune cookie.

"Your next clue is in there. But, anyway, there's me and Moran, Graves, D, Francisco, Eyes, Duchess, Spinner Red, Marcus, the twins Fili and Kili, Wolf, and Techno."

"That's thirteen."

"Well, yeah. It's a baker's dozen."

"Right. So where am I supposed to be going?"

"No idea!"

She tossed him the cookie, peering over his shoulder as he opened it.

_Go to Regent's Park_

_It's not too far_

_The trip will bring its own reward_

"Ooh! Regent's Park! That's just right down the street! With the sun where it is, you should get there just in time for dusk! Come on! I'll walk with you!"

Almost against his will, John was dragged back through the flat and out of the building. The ball of energy that made up the supposed assassin chattered the whole way. She told him all about the Deadly Dozen, what each of them did and how they'd come to meet Jim, though she seemed to always call him Moriarty or boss. Apparently, she was a martial artist with a specialization in Haidong Kumdo, a form of Korean war swordsmanship. When John asked if she was Korean, though, she laughed and said Japanese.

It only took them about 20 minutes to reach their destination. A block away from it, Jezebel pulled up short.

"I'm not actually supposed to be walking with you, so I'm gonna have to leave here. It was awesome meeting you though!"

"Yeah, you too."

And John meant it. The quirky girl had grown on him during their walk. She was an oddball, but she seemed genuine and an uplifting person to be around. She tugged at his protective instincts, even though he was pretty sure she could take him in a fight.

"Here, gimme your phone really quick."

John handed over the device and watched as the girl fiddled with the buttons. A minute later she handed it back.

"There you go! Now you've got my number and we can talk all the time! You can even give me all the dirty details about you and the boss!" She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and laughed at the look of John's face. "I put the contact in under my real name, so no one will know. It's Hiromi, by the way."

With one last hug, she left him to continue the last of his trek. The final block seemed almost too quiet in her absence. As he approached the front entrance of the park, he looked around for either a note or someone he was supposed to meet. Oddly enough, there was no one. The shops in the area were closed by this time and there weren't any residences. The streets were clear.

The pounding of footsteps down the street caught his attention, though. Turning, he caught sight of two young men running full tilt in his direction. They were painted in grey, almost made to look like stone. They came to a halt right at the park's gate, nearly falling all over themselves, before scrambling to strike two equally ridiculous poses.

The one to the right of the entrance was crouched down with one leg held aloft in front of him, arms crossed. It reminding John of that old Russian dance where they would squat and kick out in front of themselves. He and his squad and spent some time in Afghanistan trying to learn how to do it, without success. The other one, to the left of the entrance, had struck a pose straight out of a 70's disco movie. It struck him that the two were twins, though their hairstyles were quite different. What really drew John's attention, though, was the Post-It stuck to his finger, which was pointed at the sky.

Peeling it off and sending the two odd looks, (Because, really, where did Jim find these people?) John read the note.

_The time is almost right_

_Take the path of the same direction_

_Look to find what you might_

_Whatever the twins are doing,_

_Don't ask too many questions_

_(Aaaaaaand back to the rhymes. This is the last of them, I swear.)_

Shaking his head and stepping around the two young men, who continued to pretend they were statues, John entered the park. Turning right down the path, he glanced at the sky. It was starting to get late and the sky had darkened significantly in the last twenty minutes. Both sides of the path were lined by tall bushes, reaching up past John's head. They framed his view of the sky.

In fact, he was so caught up in looking at the sky, that he walked smack into the next note, which had been attached to a string across the path. Backing up just a couple steps, John took a closer look. Unlike the other notes, this one was just an arrow pointing into the bushes off to the side of the path.

With some hesitance, John pushed his way into the shrubbery. The greenery gave easier than he would have thought it would and he soon found himself staring at a scene that literally took his breath away.

Rose petals were scattered all around a clearing, little tea lights lining the exterior. In the center of the clearing was a blanket laid out with a short table, only about a foot tall. Pillows littered the top of the blanket. The table itself was laden with food, from tiny sandwiches to chocolate dipped fruit. A bottle of Champaign stood in a bucket of ice.

Between John and all of this, though, was Jim Moriarty, kneeling on the grass with a hopeful expression. His hands were extended forward, a final Post-It note displayed on his palms. It only had two words on it.

_Kiss me_

Well, what could John do but comply?


	14. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A smutty filler to take us on to the rest of the fic.

John couldn't stop the moan that slipped from his lips. Jim smiled and leaned forward to lick the overflow that had slid down the other man's chin. Really, if he'd realized the effect that chocolate covered strawberries would have on his doctor, he'd have arranged for this long ago. The blonde hummed in pleasure and reached for another of the fruity treats.

"Jim, these are amazing!"

"I'm glad you like them."

"How did you arrange for all of this?"

The blonde gestured around the clearing, indicating the candles and the now mostly eaten food. Jim swept his gaze over the spread, admiring how his work had paid off. After everything else he had tried, he'd been half afraid that this would upset John, too.

"One of my subordinates helped me pick out and set up the spread. The others were sent to set up the note trail. That was the hardest part. You wouldn't believe how hard it is to wrangle any sense of order out of them."

John couldn't suppress his smile.

"Actually, after today, I think I might."

Jim's reply of, "I don't even want to know what they did," only made the ex-soldier laugh.

"So, your people provided the food and the entertainment, how come we haven't been interrupted by some security guard? You didn't bribe anyone, did you?"

"No need. This is all completely legal…well, more or less. I didn't exactly get the candles approved."

This made John's eyebrows go up.

"Approved? Since when does James Moriarty have someone to even get things approved by?"

"Well, it was a trade, the use of the park for a favor. Mycroft seemed more than happy to oblige."

"You traded favors? With Mycroft? I thought you hated owing anyone anything."

Jim shrugged.

"I figured it worked out well enough for me the last time. Why not give it another go?"

John rolled his eyes. Only Jim would follow that logic. Well, Jim and Sherlock. He leaned over to give Jim a peck on the lips. He pulled back just enough to speak, though their lips still brushed and their breath mingled.

"You can be just so unbelievably sweet when you want to be."

"Why, Mr. Watson, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were making an advance towards me."

"What was it that clued you in, the kiss or my erection pressed up against your thigh? Oh, and it's Doctor."

Then their lips were colliding again, this time in a much more passionate kiss. True to his word, the blonde's hips pressed forward and Jim could feel the distinct bulge in his trousers.

"Just to be clear, there won't be anyone to disrupt us?"

"We've got the entire park to ourselves all night."

"Good. I'm not sure I'd be able to stop once I got started."

John's kisses moved off of Jim's mouth and across his jaw line. His tongue darted out to lick the shell of the consulting criminal's ear as he pressed the other's back down onto the blanket. He could feel as the slimmer man's breath stuttered and his hips jerked forward, clothed erection rubbing against John's own and making both men groan loudly.

John's breath was coming heavy, ghosting across the consulting criminal's ear in hot puffs. He nibbled along the path his tongue had just traced, all the while rhythmically pressing their hips together. The man beneath him squirmed and whined at the attention, only increasing the friction between them.

"You are the most unbelievable person I have ever met. You are more extraordinary than words. You have a way about you that is simply indescribable. You fascinate me, John."

If John could have purred in that moment, he would have, nuzzling his lover's cheek. In a way, lovers didn't seem quite enough to describe what they were and what they had. Boyfriend, partner, lover; they didn't seem to really encompass the depth of their relationship. They didn't fall into a label, they simply were.

Trailing kisses down Jim's neck, John reveled in the thought that this man was his. This glorious, brilliant man belonged entirely to him. They loved each other, but more than that they needed each other. He couldn't imagine a world where they hadn't gotten together. The doctor treasured his with relationship with Sherlock. The two were truly brothers in all but blood, but it didn't fulfill his need for companionship. Jim filled a void for the blonde that he hadn't even known he had.

Without lifting his lips from the other's neck, John reached between their bodies to begin unbuttoning the consultant's shirt. Jim's suit jacket already hung open, which made it easier for John's to trail his lips down with each newly exposed inch of skin. If this amazing man wanted to be with John, could love him the way he did, then John was going to worship him with his lips, and his tongue, and his teeth, hands, and eyes.

Anything that was John's, was also Jim's. He wanted to consume the man beneath him and, at the same time, be consumed by him. He wanted to push so deep inside of Jim that they'd never be able to separate fully again. They would always be connected, always be one. Somewhere in the back of his head, he wondered when he had become so obsessed.

Pushing all thoughts aside, he continued to map out every part of Jim's torso with his mouth. John's lips skimmed along the familiar curve of the smaller man's ribs as his fingers pushed the button up shirt to the side, letting it hang off Jim's shoulders. He let his hands fall to the other's hips, thumbs caressing hip bones, as he kneeled about the man. His tongue trailed a line up Jim's chest, starting at the waistband of his trousers and leading up to his Adams apple.

Once there, John's lips set to work again, lavishing the skin in kisses and light nips that left his victim writhing under the assault. Jim's erection was pressed up firmly against John's stomach and he couldn't resist the temptation to press down even further against it. The move pulled a long moan from the man beneath him.

John would never admit it aloud, but there was little he enjoyed more than watching Jim come undone. He loved to watch that controlled, cultivated exterior just fall away as the man was reduced to incoherent babbling and erotic noises. It wasn't often he got that experience, as Jim was usually much more adept at taking him apart and leaving him a babbling mess instead, so he savored the chance while he had it.

Since the two had gotten back together, their relationship had become much more physical. They had both become so desperate for the contact of the other. It was almost as if their time apart was always looming over their shoulders, like they feared the other would disappear if they weren't touching. Neither had been overly fond of public displays of affection before, other than the occasional kiss, but now they were almost constantly touching whenever they were together.

They held hands and leaned against each other. Where before they had kept things subdued, they now acted like horny teenagers. Marks littered each of their bodies from where the other had put their mark on the skin. Bite marks, scratch marks; it hardly mattered exactly what. Tonight, though, John wanted things to be different. He wanted to take things slow and savor every bit of the glorious man before him.

His lips traveled down the other's throat, his tongue making an appearance to trace along the collar bone. He traveled lower and lower, taking the time to worship each of the rosy buds that were Jim's nipples. They stood out in the cool air, tempted to hardness by the temperature and John's dedicated ministrations.

Continuing down the slender frame beneath him, John traced back along the path he'd licked earlier. He paid special mind to the soft skin that covered Jim's stomach. As a man who didn't do a lot of his own fieldwork, the consultant's muscles weren't overly developed and they didn't have much definition to them, unlike John's own. It presented the blonde with a smooth canvas on which to trace masterful works of art with his tongue and lips.

Dipping his tongue into Jim's navel, John almost missed the hands clutching his shirt until an insistent jerked pulled him upwards. Jim surged forward again to reattach them at the lips, allowing John to slip away only long enough so that the brunette could pull the other's shirt over his head and off. In a move so quick that John almost missed it, the consultant had flipped them over so John was the one laying on his back.

Jim's voice came out silky sweet as he nuzzled his lover's cheek. It was the same voice he used when delivering certain death threats, though he'd found he liked the reactions it got from John a lot better.

"Now, now, Doctor, today is about me treating you, not the other way around. Just…relax…"

Jim could feel the shivers of anticipation and pleasure that ran through John's frame and it delighted him in ways that even the most brilliantly planned scheme could not. He felt great pride at the ability to make this man quiver. John stood for solidity, he was a rock for anyone that needed him, and Jim could shake him to his very core. It was thrilling, intoxicating even.

John's hands still resting on his hips, the criminal rocked forward to push their erections together in sweet friction. Both men gasped and the fingers tracing his pelvic muscles flexed and tightened. The soldier clearly had to restrain himself from flipping them over…again. With a glance at the tea candles that lined the clearing, Jim thought for the first time that perhaps they weren't the best idea. Oh, well. What was life without a little bit of danger to add excitement?

Never ceasing in the movements of his hips, Jim reached down to undo his and John's belts. He slipped the tips of his fingers into the doctor's waistband, making sure to capture both the trousers and the briefs, before beginning to pull them down. In order to pull the offending clothing off of his blonde, the man had to rise into a crouch and shuffle down toward the other's feet. Far from impassive, John did his part to help kick the clothing aside.

Now, standing over his love, Jim Moriarty was treated to the spectacular view that was John Watson's naked form. Years in the military and countless hours chasing after Sherlock had kept him fit and lean, in better shape than most men his age. A powerful form which was usually covered up by bulky sweaters was now set out on display for Jim's perusal. He loved it.

Taking advantage of his standing position, Jim was quick to shuck his own clothing. Before tossing his trousers to the side, though, he withdrew a small packet from one pocket. He held it up for John to see and grinned.

"Single-use lube packets, our world has come so far."

The doctor laughed and Jim had absolutely no choice but to swoop down and recapture those lips with his own. That first night, he'd told himself that he was going to become addicted to kissing John and, and usual, he'd been completely right. Kissing John wasn't like kissing a woman. There was nothing soft or feminine about it. It was solid, just like every other part of him.

Ripping open the packet with his teeth, Jim squeezed a bit of it out onto his palm, setting the rest aside with care. Beneath him, he could feel John's legs shift, opening up to welcome him. Though John had topped on occasion, it was generally Jim doing the penetration. He thought it was about time for that to change. He cared about John in a way he had never cared about anyone before. Including John, only about three individuals had ever topped with Jim in his life…the other two were dead now. John was different, though. He was…John.

So Jim just tutted at him and kissed his way down John's body to take the man's cock into his mouth. He licked along the shaft and took it slowly inside his wet cavern, all the time maintaining eye contact with the doctor. Making sure he had the other's attention, he reached behind himself and slowly, torturously for both men, slid a single finger inside. He pumped a few times before adding another finger, moaning as his did so and causing an exclamation of, "Shite!" to escape his love's lips.

He continued to work the fingers inside of himself while he really got to work on John. He sucked hard around the shaft in his mouth, tongue lavishing the skin with attention. As he pulled back to the head of the member, he allowed his teeth to just barely graze the skin. The muscles in John's stomach and legs jumped at the attention.

The entire time, Jim kept his eyes glued to John's. He watched as those rich blue eyes clouded over with lust and desire. Every twitch of the muscles in John's face told him how much the blow job was affecting him. Jim knew what he was doing, and he's had enough time to learn all the things that drive John mad. All in all, he never stood a chance.

He liked having that power over John, being able to make the decision to unravel the man and then do it. His entire life was based around power. The closest he could come to a compromise with that was to let John have just as much power over Jim as he had over John. The thought of the few times John had dominated, truly dominated, him sent shivers up his spine and he moaned again, deep in his throat.

The reaction was immediate as John's hips jerked upward, quite without his consent. It didn't take a genius to know he was close. Pulling back fully, Jim sat back on his heels and slipped another finger inside, stretching himself for what was to come. John seemed fixated on Jim's body as the other worked the fingers pressed deep inside.

Reaching down to grasp the cock hanging heavy between his legs, Jim began to stoke himself slowly. As predicted, John's eyes zeroed in on the stroking hand. Smirk finding its home on his face, Jim tilted his head back and let out a long moan, clearly putting on a show. He knew that his shirt and jacket, which still hung off his shoulders, would create the perfect frame for his alabaster skin. Judging by the look on John's face, it was working. Unfortunately, Jim was having just as much trouble not being able to touch John.

Deciding that he was sufficiently stretched, Jim withdrew his fingers and grabbed the previously discarded lube to slick up John's shaft. The blonde groaned at the contact, but had time enough to recover so as not to be too close for them to enjoy the coming event. As soon as John was slicked up, Jim shuffled up to straddle his waist.

One hand extended behind to guide John in he slowly lowered himself down until he was fully seated against John's hips. He paused a moment to allow them both to adjust before rolling his hips forward, much like his movement earlier, but the reaction was much more intense. Electricity shot through his body. The angle aligned John's member perfectly with the bundle of nerves that set Jim on fire.

For John's part, the feeling of Jim clenched around him was just heavenly. He knew Jim preferred to be in control when they had sex, and John didn't mind. Really, he didn't. He understood that Jim's life had not been a cakewalk. No matter what the others might think, no one grows up to be a consulting criminal just because their bored. And it's not easy to get there.

So, when Jim was willing to relinquish that control, even if just a little, John treasured the opportunity. In fact, it was almost better than the sex. That being said, having Jim on top, riding him? Undeniably the best of both worlds.

He thrust upward, meeting Jim's movements halfway. The paler man moaned and threw his head back once again. The sight of all of that skin laid out before him drove John wild and he was soon pounding away into his lover, Jim meeting every thrust. Reaching between them, John grabbed hold of the consulting criminal's member, giving it a squeeze that made the other jump.

Jim's head whipped back down to stare into John's eyes as the blonde began to stroke the other man in time with his thrusts. The air around them filled with moans and panted breathes. Jim was making those little almost-whining noises in the back of his throat that did something to John that nothing else could. How was someone so perfect even possible?

They moved in tandem, flesh smacking against flesh and sweat rolling down each of their backs. John reached out with the hand that wasn't wrapped around Jim's cock to tweak one of Jim's nipples and was rewarded by a sound close to a growl and a very enthusiastic grinding of hips against his. It was this nearly feral animalistic side that John loved to see come out when they had sex.

The blonde hauled himself up to capture those haunting lips as they continued to thrust, stroking with his hand the entire time. As Jim moaned, he swallowed the noise, letting it travel deep in his throat and down to a special place in his heart. The air around them was heating up and John was getting so close, so close, but he didn't want it to end so quickly.

Forcing himself to slow down, he kissed Jim's whine away. He wanted to draw this out, keep things gentle. He readjusted his angle and thrust up inside of Jim again, catching his prostate and earning himself a sharp cry of pleasure from the other man. Slowly, but with the deadly accuracy of an army sharpshooter, John aimed for that spot again and again.

If John had to pick a favorite part of having sex, it would be when he got to watch Jim come undone. He loved how the man's face, neck, and chest would flush from the exertion. He loved to watch muscles contract under skin. He loved the expressions that crossed Jim's face. Most of all, though, he loved the noises Jim would make. Those were what really got him going.

Now, Jim was making all sorts of noises. There were long moans that jumped with each thrust, breaking off only momentarily. There were the whines when Jim was desperately trying to make John go faster, to let him cum and end this torture. Every so often, when John would do something the other wasn't expecting, he'd let out a little yelp of surprise. It was glorious.

Finally giving into those sweet, sweet whines, John began thrusting in earnest. Each thrust was still aimed at that bundle of nerves inside of Jim's arse, and still pretty accurate judging by the noises Jim was making. John's hand pumped in time to his thrusts and he could feel as Jim got closer and closer to the edge.

"Oh, God, John!" was all the warning he got before Jim was spurting long ropes of cum across his abdomen. His muscles spasmed, clenching down around John's cock and bringing him quickly to an orgasm of his own, buried deep inside his lover.

With John still seated inside of him, Jim collapsed against John's chest. Eyes closed, they lay there panting as they waited for the downright stifling air to cool off. Why was it so hot anyway? Was this what it was like having sex outside? Jim's voice in his ear pulled John from his musings.

"Uh…John?"

He only hummed in response.

"I hate to tell you this…but your jumper's on fire."

His eyes flew open. It must've fallen too close to the candles and caught fire. No wonder it had gotten so hot.

"No! That's my favorite one!"

As John scrambled to put the flames out, he never caught the smirk that played across Jim's face. Finally, that horrid, awful sweater was gone for good.


	15. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim makes sure John is kept busy so he can get some consulting of his own.

John pushed open the door to the pub and inhaled deeply. There was just something about the scent of old wood and beer that brought peace to his soul. He'd never much been one for pubs when he was younger, but he'd come to love them as time wore on. Across the dimly lit room, he spotted Lestrade at their usual table. He quickly headed that way.

"Hey, sorry I'm late. Sherlock was trying to blow up the flat…again."

"Oi! He better not! The boss's defense team would have a complete panic attack and I'm not giving up my night off! I'm lucky enough the boss let you talk him into letting me off on a regular basis for this!"

John turned to see Moran standing behind him, three pints in hand. They laughed and settled around the table, each taking a pull from their pint before getting into the conversation.

"So, how're things going down at the Yard? Slow, I hope. Sherlock's been complaining that you haven't sent any cases our way all week. He thinks the criminal element is getting lazy."

He sent a teasing look Moran's way, but the man just huffed in annoyance. Lestrade, on the other hand, groans and runs a hand over his eyes.

"That bad, huh?"

"Like you wouldn't believe, mate. Everything's pretty slow, has been for a couple weeks. At first, I was going, 'This is good,' right? But then the whole division starts getting restless! They always rag on Sherlock for getting bored and all that, but they're just as bad!" He took a long swig of his pint before leaning forward a bit. "We've got somebody running around stealing all the pens from people's desks. What kinda bloke does that?"

John and Sebastian laughed while Lestrade just continued to look miserable. John gave him a few pats on the back.

"Things will liven up soon. Then your people will get back in line and Sherlock will finally settle down a bit. He just needs a good puzzle to figure out. This is London, after all. Things can't stay quiet for long."

"If it were just the pranks, I think I could handle it. After all, I'm used to treating them like over-large children. It's just…they're starting up with all sorts of conspiracies."

"Conspiracies?"

Now Moran was leaning forward with interest. He tried to stay out of things when the conversation turned to the current crime market. It was one of the delicate balances that allowed the three to get together for these weekly pints. John had actually been surprised to find out how well the mercenary and the inspector could get along once they took their individual jobs off the table.

"Yeah. Donovan and Anderson have been blowing a lot of hot air about how Sherlock can't be trusted because of his connection to Moriarty. Their campaign has just been getting a lot more intense over the past couple of weeks. He really showed them up at the last crime scene and I don't think they're taking it well."

John nodded a bit and had the decency to look a bit sheepish.

"Yeah…he may have taken it a bit too far by walking Anderson through to calling himself an idiot, but you have to admit he did kind of ask for it. And Sally, well, I really can't bring myself to feel sorry for her when she refuses to call Sherlock anything other than 'freak.'"

If nothing else, John Watson would always stand by his friends.

"No one pays them much mind. Sherlock has made plenty of enemies within the Yard, but most everyone figures that they can trust your judgment, John."

Now John was sputtering and blushing, much to the other men's amusement.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you don't know what it was like to deal with Sherlock before you came along. His behavior now is like a cakewalk. You're practically a hero among the Yarders." He lowered his voice a bit and cast a glance around conspiratorially. "Most of them think you're going to turn Moriarty into some kind of angel. They figure if you can do it to Sherlock, you can do it to him."

"Th-that's ridiculous!"

"Yeah, well, better that than them thinking Sherlock has switched sides."

"The whole deal is fucking stupid."

Lestrade blinked at Moran's use of the American curse, but John knew it was just a remnant of their army days. A lot of the men picked up American curses just because they sounded harsher. Moran was one of many who kept the habit on after returning home. The mercenary set his pint down on the table with a bit more force than necessary, clearly displaying his irritation.

"If I were you, I'd shut this shite done now, whether or not your other people buy into it. You don't want to give the impression that this kind of stuff is acceptable."

"You speak like you've got experience."

"Oh, yeah. This one time our surveillance expert, Eyes, disguised himself and pulled a prank on two of our other members, Fili and Kili."

"You mean like the characters from that book?" Lestrade interrupted. Moran grimaced in response.

"The Hobbit, yeah. They're apparently huge fans. It's best to just not ask too many questions when it comes to those two."

John smiled at the wording.

"You know, I've heard that advice before."

"Right. So, Eyes pulls this prank and he's got the twins absolutely convinced that there's an assassin that's infiltrated our ranks. Due to that, we spent probably eight weeks going through the organization piece by piece trying to find this assassin. It was an absolute nightmare for security and jobs."

Lestrade's eyebrows were practically disappearing into his hairline. At the same time, John had a look on his face that was part worry and part amusement. After all, the situation was pretty funny, but the criminal consultant's reaction could have gone either way.

"I bet Jim must've loved that. It wasn't too bad, was it?"

"Actually, he took it surprisingly well. When the whole story came out, I think he laughed for a good five minutes straight." Moran shifted a bit and took another pull from his pint before continuing. "To be completely honest with you, I think he knew from the beginning."

John snorted.

"Of course he did."

Lestrade just shook his head.

"At least he was good about it. I wish Mycroft had a sense of humor about things. I mean, even Sherlock has his tendency for sarcastic comments. Mycroft, though, is just…" he seemed to fumble for the right word to use and John swooped in to save him.

"High strung?"

"Yes! And he always acts like he's got a stick shoved up his arse!"

"And that face he makes! It's like he always smells something unpleasant!"

"Probably himself."

All three men erupted into laughter, even though it was predominately Jim and John who'd been talking on the subject. Moran raised his glass to the other two in a toast.

"I'm glad I don't have to deal with him then. The boss calls him the Ice Man, but it seems like that title doesn't do him justice."

Lestrade groaned.

"You have no idea. I get calls from him at least every case wanting an update on his brother. And Lord forbid Sherlock ever goes off on his own investigation. Then, he's calling me and all but ordering me around to keep an eye on him, like with that case last month with the dog or the hound or whatever! It's bloody ridiculous! Do I look like Sherlock's babysitter to you? Because I could have sworn my badge said Detective Inspector."

"No, no, being Sherlock's babysitter is my job."

John sent Lestrade an understanding smile. After all, he, too, knew how difficult the Holmes brothers could be to deal with. Suddenly, in unison, all of their mobiles buzzed with a text alert. With curious glances sent back and forth, they each pulled theirs out. The messages were all the same.

'Try making offerings of cake to stave off the Devil. –SH'

None of them could hold back the laughs, with Lestrade as the first to recover.

"I don't even want to know how he knows what we're talking about!"

Moran frowned briefly at his device.

"What I want to know is how he even got my number. This is an incredibly secure line. Almost no one has this number."

John just shrugged.

"He probably got it from Jim. You know how they are."

"Speaking of which," Lestrade said, "I still haven't quite been able to understand how the two of you got together, John. I mean you and Jim Moriarty? It's not a match I would have ever seen coming."

"Trust me, I didn't either. That night when Jim showed up at the pub I was at, I thought for sure he was there to kill or kidnap me again. I mean, sure, I found him attractive. But a relationship? I would have called you crazy for even suggesting it."

"So what made you change your mind?"

John settled back in his seat, a thoughtful look on his face. He pressed his lips together in a way that reminded Greg distinctly of Sherlock. Hadn't he read an article somewhere about people who spent a lot of time together picking up each other's habits? It was certainly true for the consulting detective and the doctor. Some of their habits had become so in sync that Greg had trouble remembering who it originally came from.

"He's just so…different than I thought he was. He's always so bright and happy. I feel like I can't be in a bad mood around him. Even when he's done something that makes me mad, he never meant to cause that reaction. He's very sweet."

"Sweet? You're using the term 'sweet' to describe the most dangerous man in London?"

"I know, I know! It sounds insane, but it's true! He's always trying to come up with new ways to make me smile. And you wouldn't believe how much he loves puns!" The grin that stretched across John's face clearly displayed that Jim's love for puns couldn't even touch the blonde's love for Jim. "Honestly, I don't think we've ever been able to make it through a shopping trip without a comment of how 'gouda' it is that we can spend time together in the dairy section or how we were meant to 'brie' together…and those are just the cheeses. Do you know what he pulled on Valentine's Day?"

The DI shook his head, grinning in amusement. How could he not support a relationship that clearly left John so happy? Sneaking a glance at Moran, he saw the mercenary was fighting back a smile, too. Ever the tough guy, huh? John was still grinning like an idiot as he continued.

"He sent me an entire series of Valentine's Day cards themed after dictators of the world. You know that Korean guy? There was a card with his picture on it that read, 'You're the Kim Jong Illest.'"

Lestrade snorted.

"Really? You've got to be joking!"

"No, no, really! I'm completely serious! There was one for Joseph Stalin, too, that said, 'Quit Stalin and be me Valentine!'"

The table erupted into laughter. To be fair, Greg wouldn't have expected to have so much fun with a bunch of ruthless dictators. Sebastian was shaking his head in a way that said he was all too used to dealing with Jim's antics.

"Remind me not to ever let you talk to any of Jim's contacts. Keep talking like that and you'll completely destroy any credibility he has as a criminal."

"Mm! That's right. How do you deal with that, with what Moriarty does? I mean, as long as I've known you, John, you've had very strong morals. How can you just ignore what his life is based on?"

"It's not so straightforward. Jim has done, or has ordered done, terrible things. I can't deny that. There are people out there who would be alive today if he didn't exist. He facilitates crimes that would have otherwise never been committed. Don't think I don't know that."

John paused to take a drink from his pint, obviously marshaling his thoughts and figuring out how to phrase everything right.

"When I was in Afghanistan, I saw a lot of pain. There was so much suffering. I was a doctor, but I was also a soldier. I've killed people, men who thought they were doing the right thing. They thought with absolute certainty that their cause was worth dying for. Many of them had wives and children, families and friends. I took that away. They will never get to see their children grow up because of me. They will never kiss their wives again because of me. They will never get to sit in a bloody pub and laugh with their friends again because of me!"

He closed his eyes, distress clear on his face. Lestrade could only stare. He'd known in a detached kind of manner that John had killed people in the war, but he'd never heard the man actually talk about it before. The doctor wasn't the first veteran he'd met, and he understood that it wasn't often an experience people wanted to delve into.

Moran reached a hand over to squeeze John's uninjured shoulder. He knew how these thoughts could sneak into a man's head and grow, slowly driving him mad. They could consume every moment, awake or not. It was an issue that many veterans struggled with. He watched as John seemed to physically steel himself before continuing.

"The point is I've done bad things, too. I did it to protect the men I was over there with, because every life I took was another enemy who couldn't kill my friends. Any enemy I killed today was someone who wasn't shooting at me tomorrow. I've come to terms with the things that I did over there because they are things that needed to be done. Society at large doesn't struggle with it, though. Do you know why?"

Lestrade shook his head.

"The government told me to. Plus, everyone who died was overseas, from another nation. It's so disconnected that no one pays much attention when an enemy gets killed. But someone dies here? Then it's a big deal. Jim's killed people. I've killed people. There's really not that much a difference there."

"Not that much of a difference?!"

Had it been anyone else, Lestrade would have been horrified. As it was, he was so shocked he wasn't even sure what he was thinking. The only reason he didn't freak out was because John had held up a hand to stem his outburst.

"Hear me out. I'm not saying that what Jim's done is okay, far from it. But I am saying that I'm not any better. There are a lot of things that he's done to help people, too. Granted, it's not for free, but he's saved lives as well as taken them. He's gotten people out of the Russian mafia or away from an abusive spouse. Do you remember the drug smuggling ring that got wiped out about three months ago? All those dealers kept getting dumped at the Yard?"

"That was Jim?"

"With Sherlock's help. A mother came to Jim because her daughter kept falling back into drugs. The woman couldn't even tell him who her dealer was, but she offered him 20,000 pounds to find that one dealer and get him to stay away from her daughter. Jim agreed and turned around immediately to hire Sherlock. He destroyed the entire ring because of that one request, including their suppliers outside of the country. Do you know how much he paid Sherlock to deal with the operation here while he and Moran went overseas? 50,000 pounds."

Lestrade gaped.

"Now, that being said, this was also a rival operation that was muscling in on his turf. Getting rid of them was an investment. But there are always a way to justify these things, for good or for evil."

He gave the DI a pointed look before knocking back the last of his pint and settling in to let Lestrade absorb everything he'd said. Sebastian grunted and picked up their empty pints.

"I'll get us another round."

By the time he got back, Greg had wrapped his mind around the whole situation a little bit more. He took a deep pull from the new pint, hoping to fortify himself a bit.

"So you just…don't care? That doesn't seem like you. Don't get me wrong, Moriarty seems like a pleasant enough guy, but I just can't…I don't understand."

"Far from it. I care a great deal, but I also cut him some slack because this is what he's built his entire life around. It's part of him and it's not something that he can just turn on and off like a faucet. Besides, he's cut back a lot since we've gotten together. That says a lot. Within the first few months since we started dating," he still blushed as he said it, "he'd dismantled and cut off a number of organizations he thought I wouldn't approve of. Plus, he really gets what it was like to be in the war. That's hard to find."

"What do you mean?"

Here, Moran leaned in and took over. John turned his attention briefly back to his pint.

"Most people don't understand what it's like to really be in combat. For soldiers, especially those on the front lines, life skills are literally skills that keep you alive. Human relations are defined by how much you would trust the other person with your life. Absolutely everything is a life or death situation. That's why so many soldiers find it hard to adjust when they come back to civilian life. It's especially hard if you didn't choose to come back."

He glanced at John pointedly. The man was staring into his pint like it held all the answers to the world.

"In war, so many problems can be solved by getting violent faster than the other man. Every moment could be your last. I remember one time when a guy in my unit got shot in the foot while taking a nap on his cot. The only reason he didn't get shot in the head was because he'd decided to switch direction that day."

"But you and John have adjusted well."

That made the mercenary laugh.

" Me and John? We're not out of the war. I work for Jim Moriarty and John lives with Sherlock Holmes, and that was before he started dating the world's only consulting criminal. For us, the war is very much alive. Not that we're complaining, it's what keeps us sane."

"But no one's shooting at you anymore."

Moran's drawn out, "Weeeelll...," was cut off by John rejoining the conversation.

"The thing about war that so many of us miss isn't being shot at. God, if no one ever aimed a gun at me again in my life, I couldn't be happier. It's the feeling that of being fully utilized, utterly needed. Nothing gets taken for granted because every activity you participate in could be your last. You come to savor a cup of coffee even if it's awful because it could be the last thing you ever get to drink. Jim lives that every day, he gets it."

The silence that hung over them was heavy as each man thought on what had been said. For Lestrade, it was an eye opening experience into the lives of his friends. (And, yes, he supposed he did consider Moran a friend, in a way.) John cracked a smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Besides, Jim makes a right proper scone, too. I'd probably marry him just to keep those coming!"

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"Really, Dearie, this place?"

Mrs. Hudson stared up at the storefront dubiously as she and Jim Moriarty climbed out of the cab. When she'd agreed to go on this shopping venture, she hadn't realized it would take them to this side of town. The fact that the building in front of them looked like it probably should have been torn down ages ago wasn't making her feel any better.

Jim popped up behind her after paying the cabbie, smile fixed firmly in place. His hands fluttered nervously like little birds and his entire body seemed to vibrate with pent up energy. He glanced up and down the street before guiding Mrs. Hudson gently towards the door for the establishment.

"They're the best in London, I promise. There's not a single place I would trust with this more than here. The quality is impeccable and the value is well proportioned, not that price is a factor."

The two swept through the doors and the landlady (NOT housekeeper) had to take a moment to wonder if she was in the same building. Surly, there was some space vortex or scifi something or other in the doorway because this could not have been the same place she'd seen from the street.

They walked down a marble foyer, lined with fancy plants in porcelain and china pots. A crystal chandelier hung down from the vaulted ceilings. The room opened up into a sales floor with glass counters and sales associates dressed in full suits. The entire establishment gave off a feeling of hushed opulence. She was suddenly glad she'd dressed up a bit for this outing.

One of the associates was already headed their way, a young woman in her late twenties. She appeared utterly professional in a pantsuit and short heals that clicked softly on the marble floor. Her hair was swept up in a tasteful bun and she could have looked quite stern were it not for the friendly smile painted across her face. Mrs. Hudson found herself liking the woman immediately.

"Hello! How are you two doing today? Is there anything I can help you out with? Anything in particular you are looking for?"

Jim smiled back at her, ever the open and friendly man in public.

"I'm looking to purchase some wedding rings."

"Well, you're in luck! We have quite the selection here. If you wouldn't mind stepping over to this counter? All of our latest styles are here."

Mrs. Hudson was so happy that he and John were finally going to be getting married. True, Jim hadn't asked yet, but there was no doubt John would say yes. The two were head over heels in love with each other. When Jim had asked her to come help him pick out a ring for John, she'd jumped at the opportunity.

The saleswoman stepped around to the other side of the counter as Jim and Mrs. Hudson peered inside. Most of the styles displayed were rather traditional. The saleswoman immediately reached for a set of engagement rings that were decidedly feminine.

"Here we had few different takes of the traditional princess cut diamonds. It's probably the most popular style used in the last few years. As you can see, the settings come in a variety of sizes for any carat diamond. They also come in gold, sliver-"

"Nope!"

The woman jerked to a halt at Jim's almost excited rejection of the rings. Like most of the rest of humanity, she wasn't sure exactly how to take Jim. Luckily for her, Jim didn't stop his explanation there. After all, he needed the perfect ring for his doctor.

"I'm pretty sure John would kill me if I got him a princess cut diamond. Besides, it's way too plain. John is special, his rings needs to be, too."

It was clear by the look on the saleswoman's face that she hadn't even fathomed that Jim was shopping for another man until that moment. She recovered from it well, though. Jim could note that she was caught off guard by the gender, but not repulsed. That was good. Jim would hate to have to get another salesperson…so inconvenient. Mrs. Hudson, on the other hand, seemed quite interested in Jim's phrasing.

"Why would John want to kill you, Dear? It sounds to me like there's a story involved."

She gave him that, 'don't try to fool me, it won't work,' look that she wore so well and Jim couldn't help but smile. How had he not known how wonderful Sherlock's landlady was before? He almost felt sorry for the time he'd blown the windows out of her flat. But that was over and done with, no need to dwell.

"It's possible I may have teasingly called him Princess at one point, which he might not have taken well…"

The arched eyebrow he got from Mrs. Hudson told him that he wasn't getting out of the story that easily. With a sigh, he continued. After all, the situation might have been a tad embarrassing.

"It was about a month and a half ago. I'd just bought a new painting and John was helping me hang it. He's so helpful!" Mrs. Hudson made a noise of agreement and Jim noticed the saleswoman paying avid attention. "Anyway, he was coming down off the stepladder and I held a hand out to help him. I am, of course, ever the gentleman. I made a flippant comment about him being 'my princess' and he didn't take it too well."

"Oh, my! You two didn't have a row, did you? I'd have thought I'd notice, but you were so busy then."

"No, no. Not exactly." Jim blushed lightly and shifted a bit. "His revenge was to...tickle me. Relentlessly. Somewhere in all the commotion my panic button was pressed and before we knew it Seb was kicking down the door."

"Is that what happened to my door?!"

"I know, I know! But we fixed it! Besides, the, uh, make up session was totally worth it."

Mrs. Hudson laughed and swatted him playfully on the arm. Jim just sent a wink at the blushing saleswoman and followed it up with a wicked grin.

"She loves the details, this one."

If anything that only made the woman blush more. To cover it up, she hurriedly pulled out another set of rings, this time wider, more masculine bands, and stammered through her next sales pitch. Despite his utter enjoyment at her embarrassment, Jim found himself liking the woman. She was clearly knowledgeable about her products and seemed to genuinely want to help Jim find the perfect ring.

They ran through several different styles until Jim settled on a pair of rings that were 7mm in width. It was a tad wider than most bands, but Jim liked the style and thought John would too. There was an imbedded setting on the top of each ring where a stone would be placed. All he had to do was pick the stone and the metal for the ring.

"What about gold? Gold's traditional right?"

Jim glanced back and forth between the saleswoman and Mrs. Hudson. The saleswoman, who they now knew as Charlotte, was pulling out the same ring in all the different metals they had available so he could see them side by side. Mrs. Hudson 'tutt'ed beside him.

"Really, Jim, I expected better from you! Gold would absolutely clash with your skin tone, not to mention John's. How about the platinum? Or the silver?"

Jim thought about it for a moment.

"The silver, definitely. John would think getting a platinum ring was too pretentious."

He wrinkled his nose in distaste. Meanwhile, Charlotte was putting the other rings away and pulling out several different gem stones.

"Excellent choice. Not a lot of people go with silver anymore, but I still think it's a classic. Now, let's talk about which stone you'd like for the setting. This can change the look of the entire piece, so it's important to choose the right one. Can you tell me a little bit more about your partner's personality? It'll help me make better suggestions for you."

Her wide smile instantly put Jim at ease and he found himself listing off his reasons for loving John in a way that he normally wouldn't even consider doing with a stranger. Interesting…she was very good at her job. He made a mental note to see if there was a way he could put that talent to use within his own organization. After all, he was always on the lookout for new recruits.

"He's sturdy. That's the first thing that comes to mind when I think of him. Sometimes I think that nothing can shake him. Anything he says he's going to do, he does. He's probably the most reliable person I know. I'd say he got that from being a soldier, but I'm reasonably sure it's a personality trait far predating that particular career choice."

He couldn't keep the small smile that decorated his face. It seemed to appear any time he talked about John.

"He's loyal to a fault. I mean, there's absolutely nothing he wouldn't do for a friend. He trusts those he cares about implicitly, even when he shouldn't. And he's compassionate. There's not a person in the world he wouldn't help if he could. That's probably what led him to be a doctor. He is the most amazing person I have ever met."

By now, he knew his smile had become stupidly dopey. Mrs. Hudson gave him a pat on the arm and the saleswoman looked as if her heart was melting. Despite knowing she probably had all the information she needed, Jim couldn't stop talking.

"Despite all that, despite how brave and wonderful and strong and beautiful he is, he never gets a big head. He's endlessly modest and his first reaction to gratitude is to downplay the fact that he deserves it at all. He'd prefer to dress in second hand sweaters than in custom fit clothes by a personal tailor. Trust me, I tried. He's just so stubborn!"

Now Jim was getting animated, gesturing his hands and letting his exasperation leak into his voice.

"It's like everything he does is so bloody perfect and he's gorgeous doing it! Where does he get off on being like that? Seriously! How is that even possible? I never thought I'd fall for anyone, really. It wasn't something I was interested in. And then here comes John Watson with his fabulous muscles and his smile and that light in his eyes that makes me all gooey. What does gooey even mean? I don't even know, but he makes me feel it! I just…" His shoulders dropped in what may have been resignation, but there was nothing sad about it. "I love him."

The saleswoman looked like she was about to squeal with happiness, Mrs. Hudson right along with her.

"That is just so sweet! You know, I have people come in here all the time looking for wedding rings that aren't half as passionate as you are. I'm sure he feels the same way about you. How could he not?"

She hummed over the gems sitting on the counter before shaking her head.

"What color are his eyes?"

"Blue."

Nodding once, she swept the gems on the counter back into their container and ducked down to root around a cabinet. When she popped back out, she set out a series of sapphires for them to look at. The shade of each gem varied just slightly but covered the spectrum from light, almost clear blue to a deep, dark blue that reminded Jim of the ocean at night. Charlotte smiled sheepishly.

"I'm not really supposed to have this many gems out on the counter at once, but I thought this would be the easiest way for you to pick out his exact shade. You could put a sapphire in your ring and an emerald in his. That way you could both be reminded of the other when you look at it."

When Jim just stared at her, she blushed horribly and scrambled start putting the gems away.

"I-I'm sorry. It's horribly cheesy. I shouldn't have suggested it."

Jim's hand shot out to stop her.

"No, no. I love cheesy. God, I love cheesy. It's just so…I love the idea."

And he did. Jim never said anything he didn't mean unless he was outright lying and even then it was to get what he really wanted. No, he liked the way this woman thought. Smiling at the woman reassuringly, he turned back to the sapphires. Picking them up one by one, he examined them in the light, holding them up and turning them this way and that, trying to determine the perfect shade to match John's eyes. He was so entranced by his task that he didn't even notice their new arrival until a deep baritone voice spoke from behind him.

"Sapphires? Really? Don't tell me you're attempting to match John's eye color. I expected more from you, Jim, not this sappy, sentimental drivel. Besides, sapphires for an engagement ring? How tacky."

Jim glared at him, not even bothering to ask why he was there. They had mostly recovered their previous friendship, but Sherlock still seemed to get caught up on things such as sentiment…like he wasn't subject to the whims of it himself. The detective nodded to Mrs. Hudson before turning his intimidating attention fully upon the saleswoman.

"Now, if you would be so kind, I need to speak with the manager. Tell him Sherlock Holmes is here to collect the item we discussed."

Clearly taken aback, Charlotte glanced quickly between Jim and Mrs. Hudson before scurrying off. The landlady gave her longest tenant a stern look.

"Oh, Sherlock, now look what you've done! You've gone and scared the poor girl! She was such a sweetheart, too. You know, now that John's settling down, you should start thinking about finding someone for yourself."

The brunette gave a derisive snort.

"Hardly."

Seemingly not to notice his agitation at the previous statement, Mrs. Hudson just bustled onward.

"So what are you picking up?"

"Some time ago I assisted the store's owner in locating several priceless gem stones which had been stolen. I am simply collecting on that favor."

With that, a portly man came bustling over to them, the young woman following close behind. His buttoned up shirt and jacket strained over his ample belly, but he seemed in high spirits as he greeted Sherlock.

"Mr. Holmes! It is so good to see you! Mr. Rogers said to expect you!"

"You have what we discussed?"

"Yes, of course, sir! I have them right here!"

The manager pulled a small box out of his coat pocket and deposited it on the counter in front of the trio. Lifting the lid, he stepped back with a huge grin. Sherlock reached inside and plucked out two of the most gorgeous gems Jim had ever set eyes on. They were utterly identical. At first glance, he'd thought they were diamonds, but a closer inspection revealed them to in facts have an almost creamy color to them. Red, blue, and green danced across the surface at even the barest hint of light. They were mesmerizing.

"Fire opals." Sherlock sounded almost bored as he tossed the gems down in front of the consulting criminal. "They'll be even more brilliant in direct sunlight. They are much classier than those pathetic sapphires you were examining."

For the first time since their reveal, Jim managed to drag his eyes away from the stones. His bewildered gaze met Sherlock's.

"You mean…?"

"Yes. Consider them my approval of your union to John." Suddenly, he leaned in close, glaring at the other man. All traces of indifference were gone, replaced by a cold sense of danger. "Let me be perfectly clear though. If you ever so much as think of leaving John again, of hurting him like you did before, I will end you."

Jim suppressed the shudder that threatened to run down his spine. For a man working on the side of the angel's, Sherlock Holmes was not one to take lightly. Still, he felt a smile tug at the edge of his lips.

"I have no intentions of the sort. Believe me, Holmes, ending me would be a kindness compared to what I would put myself through for doing such a thing to John again."

"Good, then."

And, just like that, the air was cleared. Sherlock turned back to the rings.

"They're still missing something, though."

Jim hummed in agreement, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"I was thinking something similar. They're gorgeous, of course, especially with those gems. Thank you, by the way." Sherlock just shrugged nonchalantly. "But I agree. They just don't seem quite done…"

A light suddenly glinted in Sherlock's eye.

"It's almost as if they need a personal…touch."

Jim's gaze snapped to meet his, grin stretching across his face. As usual, they left those around them far behind.

"Oh, that's perfect."


	16. Yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John says it.

The door to 221B Baker Street flew open, banging against the wall and making its current sole inhabitant jump in surprise. John finished pulling his black and white striped sweater over his head and hurried into the living room. Jim met him halfway, all but bouncing on his toes. He grinned wildly upon spotting John.

"Are you ready?"

"Was that you, Jim? You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry! I was just really excited! Today's a big day!"

He didn't look remotely sorry and John could only roll his eyes at the man's enthusiasm. They'd arranged to go on an all-day date today and Jim had been on edge for days. The blonde moved across the room to collect his phone, wallet, and keys.

"I'm just glad you told me about the date today, instead of just kidnapping me."

This time, at least, the consulting criminal had the decency to look somewhat abashed about the incident that was now more than a month ago, not that John was ever going to let him live it down. The man had sent a henchman to pick him up for a date because Jim himself was running late from a meeting. Unfortunately, he had both forgotten to tell John and the henchman had somehow not realized this was the boss's boyfriend John.

The whole debacle had ended with John breaking the man's arm and calling Jim, thinking this was an attack at the criminal. By the time the whole thing got sorted out the brunette had made a decree that only he or the Deadly Dozen were allowed contact with John, no more delegation. John just thought the whole thing was funny. (Though he did kind of feel bad for breaking the guy's arm.) Jim shifted a bit.

"It's an important day. I can't afford to have anything go wrong."

John gave him a questioning look but Jim just continued to try and shuffle him out the door.

"Let's go, let's go!"

John smiled at his lover indulgently, as so many things he did that involved Jim were, but proceeded out of the flat.

"You're such a child."

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John almost laughed when Jim's car pulled up outside of one of the larger parks in London and they piled out onto the cement. The criminal's near-scandalized look prompted him to reach out and take the other's hand.

"You just seem to have a love for parks, that's all."

Jim shrugged and pulled the blonde forward through the entrance.

"Parks offer open spaces and a perceived change of scenery without being overly inconvenient. They provide fresh air, or as fresh as you're going to find in a city like London, and it's easily defensible. There are a lot of advantages."

John couldn't help the smile on his face.

"Easily defensible? Why am I not surprised?"

He leaned over as they walked to bump shoulders gently with his lover and swooped over to place a quick kiss on his cheek. He couldn't help but love the man. Perhaps that was why his thoughts had so recently turned towards marriage.

The first time the thought had crossed his mind had been in the kitchen at 221B. He'd been making tea and had looked out into the living room to find Sherlock and Jim huddled around the table. They were discussing a problem that had arisen within one of Jim's organizations. More and more, the two were working together on little projects. Jim would hire Sherlock to investigate something and Sherlock would use Jim to locate people in the criminal world. Somehow, they'd managed to avoid stepping on the other's toes, which could only be regarded as a minor miracle.

Watching the two of them together, though, filled John with a warm feeling. They were both so much a part of the doctor's life that he couldn't imagine ever living without them. As Jim gesticulated wildly, as he was wont to do, John imagined a ring decorating his finger. At first, the thought had shocked him, but after some thought he found that he rather liked the idea.

In a normal situation, John would have gone out and bought a ring right then and there. He wasn't the type to dawdle with life decisions. If nothing else, John Watson was a man of action. What held him back now, though, was Jim himself. John couldn't help thinking that a man so used to independent freedom as James Moriarty wouldn't want to be tied down by marriage. (And, really, wouldn't he see it as being tied down?) So, he hadn't asked.

That didn't mean the idea didn't stick around in his mind, though.

As they continued to wander around the park, the talk turned to more mundane things, such as the case John had just finished up with Sherlock. The body of a woman who had been missing for over five years had shown up in a storage unit, frozen solid. Lestrade had thought it was the husband, but the original case file of her disappearance gave him an alibi. He and his team had tried to find the man, only to discover that he'd been shot dead in a parking lot two years after his wife's disappearance.

Lestrade, sensing the headache the case was sure to become, had called in Sherlock. Sherlock had been the one to figure out how the husband had killed his wife, shoved her in a freezer, and taken the entire thing to a storage unit to hide the body. He'd used his best friend as an alibi and it was that friend who'd continued to pay for the storage unit after the husband's death. He'd stopped paying because he just couldn't stand it anymore.

The mystery of the husband's death had then circled back to the wife's father, who now cared for the grandchildren. The man hadn't believed his daughter had just disappeared and had eventually managed to put the pieces together, a fact that rather impressed Sherlock. He'd been the one to kill her husband after hearing him confess to murdering her.

"It's just so awful. Their entire family has been torn apart because of one man's greed. The grandfather has been arrested. Mum and Dad are dead, both murdered. What's going to become of those kids? Sure, they still had a grandmum, but that's just so much loss to go through at such a young age."

"Well, the bright side is that their grandfather probably isn't going to stay behind bars long. From what you've told me, he'd had gotten rid of the gun. He didn't confess, so there's just Sherlock's word to go on as to what he believes happened, though I have no doubts it's the truth. It'd be hard for a prosecutor to get a conviction."

John hummed in agreement, but still wore a frown on his face. They'd paused under a large tree, branches reaching out to dapple the ground with shade. A flower vender stood just a foot away, hawking his product to passers-by. John looked out over the park, lost in thought for the moment. It was a perfect day.

"John…"

The blonde turned to face the other man. Jim opened his mouth as if to say something else, not that he had Johns attention, but his hand brushed his pocket and he suddenly frowned. A quizzical look crossed his face he slipped the hand into the pocket.

"What's this? It looks like there's something in my pocket."

With a flourish, he pulled a bright red rose from his jacket and extended it to the blonde, sweeping into a dramatic bow. For his part, John couldn't help but laugh. His heart raced from the brief mental image of Jim pulling out a small, velvet box. Now wouldn't that have been a twist?

Then his eyes flickered to the flower vender just behind them and he realized he would have noticed if Jim had taken the time to buy a flower from the man.

"Jim…please tell me you did not just nick that from the vender…"

"I think 'nick' is a bit of a strong word…"

"Oh, my God, Jim! You can't just do stuff like that! That's stealing!"

Jim was waving one hand in the air as if to shoo away John's arguments. The smile that lit up his face told the doctor that he'd fallen completely into the other man's trap.

"It's not stealing if I left money in its place. Besides, I'm sure the man will forgive me when he finds the more than generous tip."

With an exasperated sigh and a heart-felt smile, John took the flower.

"Thank you, then. It's gorgeous."

Jim grinned back before turning to spin around a couple of times, eyes closed and face turned towards the sun. When he turned back to John, his eyes were alight with a childish glee that filled John with warmth.

"I love the outdoors, you know? There's just something about being out here that makes the rest of the world feel like it's on pause. It's like we'll leave here and life will have just been waiting for us, not having moved an inch in our absence."

They fell into step again, Jim now angling them towards the lake that stood in the middle of the park. It wasn't huge, but there were a few people out on row boats and the like.

"I know what you mean. I used to spend almost all my time outside as a kid. My family lived in this wooded area and I would spend hours out there just having adventure after adventure. Sometimes I would lose track of time so bad that my mum and dad would have to come looking for me."

Jim appropriated a small boat from a rental shack by the shore of the lake and they were soon rowing out towards the middle of the lake, John continuing to share stories about his mishaps as a child.

"I don't think there was a single week I didn't come home with scratches and bruises all over me! My school councilor once called me to the office to ask if I was being abused. The thought of it coming off like that to other people had never even occurred to me! I nearly decked him before I took a moment to think about it." A soft smile decorated his lips. "I had plans to be an adventurer when I grew up. I wanted to work for National Geographic or the Discovery Channel, traveling all over the world to see these amazing things. I already had picked out my first trip to be to Bora Bora."

Jim snickered, as he had been during most of the stories.

"Why Bora Bora?"

John wrinkled his nose in that way of his that said he was about to say something embarrassing.

"I thought it sounded exotic."

Jim let out a laugh that started several ducks nearby. The settled down again some distance away and sent hateful glares in the direction of the two men. John's glare joined them.

"It's not that funny."

The unrepentant brunette just grinned at him.

"I've never been to Bora Bora, either, you know, but it's amazing the discoveries you can make right here in London."

"Really? Like what?"

"Like this boat, for instance. At first glance, it seems like a perfectly common row boat, nothing special. There's no telling what secret it holds, though."

John gave him a flat, disbelieving look. It was very similar to the one he'd worn when Jim had told him about the time he'd had a cover as a children's show actor.

"Seriously. C'mon, let's play Sherlock and see what we can find!"

John snorted and rolled his eyes at his boyfriend's ridiculousness, but went along with it anyway. Jim was examining the side of the boat while John checked under the seats. He felt utterly foolish until he found a wicker basket under the bench seat where Jim had been sitting. Of course.

"Well, well, well, look what I found."

He pulled the basket out and Jim looked over, all big eyes and faked innocence. John sent him a look that said the blonde clearly wasn't buying it.

"How do you think that got on here? Let's open it up and see what's inside!"

When Jim opened the basket, he revealed a full picnic spread. There were chicken salad sandwiches on croissants, chocolate covered strawberries, and a bottle of Champaign accompanied by two tall glasses. Jim grinned over at John.

"What a well-timed discovery! You know, I was just starting to get hungry and it would be such a waste to just let all this delicious-looking food go bad."

John just smiled and bumped their shoulders together affectionately, rocking the boat a little.

"I love you."

Jim beamed back.

"I love you, too."

They tucked into the food, talking about mundane things that weren't overly important. Sometimes they both needed that, the lack of complication. They both lived lives that were so full of life-threatening situations and high-stress moments. It was nice to just live in the moment sometimes, with nothing more pressing than what to pick up at the grocery store.

Jim was talking about a renovation he wanted to make in 221C. It was something about a trap door or a hidden staircase to connect it to 221B. It was something he'd talked about before and it amused John to no end. After all, he didn't really believe Jim would do it.

Sprawled across the boat, John listened with one ear to Jim's wild ideas and tipped his head back against the side of the boat. The sun shone down on his face, warm and bright. John loved the sound of Jim's voice, especially in situations like this. It was soft and almost melodic, but full of so much life when he got excited.

Lying out in the sun, relaxed, full of food, and listening to Jim talk, John could feel sleep creeping up on him. He'd always been a sucker for the traditional cat nap. He was just about to drift off when he heard Jim's tone of voice change.

"Um, John?"

The blonde hummed in response, not yet ready to wake up and open his eyes. Something about Jim's tone tugged at his attention, though.

"Look at your Champaign glass."

An image of a ring in the bottom of the bubbly liquid flashed behind his eyes and John quickly squashed it. Dragging his eyelids open, John pulled himself up and turned to look at his glass. What he saw took his breath away.

A butterfly was perched on the rim of his glass. Its delicate wings ended in sharp arcs and a deep orange, flecked with black and brown, gave it an autumn feeling. As he watched, the butterfly gently lowered its wings before raising them again.

Jim reached out almost casually to pluck the insect off his glass, closing his hand over the bug like a dome. John noted how careful he was not to touch the wings. A quick twist of his wrist, and the orange insect was suddenly sitting on one of Jim's fingers. At the same time, Jim was looking at it in a way that he usually reserved for John on lazy mornings.

"It's a Nymphalidae. You almost never see them anymore." He paused, staring at the little thing. "Did you know that if you touch a butterfly's wings with your fingers, it transfers oil that will destroy them? They won't be able to fly anymore."

"I didn't know you liked butterflies so much."

Jim blinked and a light blush dusted his cheeks. Letting the butterfly take off and flutter off, the criminal looked away. John knew the cover up was coming before Jim even opened his mouth.

"It's just that butterflies will do whatever it takes to survive. They'll even drink the blood of dead animals."

Though the fact was a bit surprising, John didn't let it derail him. He just settled back into the boat and smiled.

"Whatever you want to tell yourself, dear."

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Three hours later found Jim and John standing on the sidewalk outside of Westminster Abbey, probably the most famous church in London. It had been recognized all over the world before Prince William had married Kate Middleton there. Now, it was even more well-known, which made John's newfound knowledge about Jim all the more surprising.

"I still can't believe you've never been here."

When Jim had first mentioned the church, by its true name, John hadn't known what he was talking about. After all, no one called it the Collegiate Church of Saint Peter at Westminster anymore. Once they'd sorted out the confusion, though, John had insisted they go to the church.

"I've never had much of an interest in the tourist traps of London. I'm always so busy that it never really got onto my radar. That being said, I really wouldn't mind going to see the crowned jewels."

"Well, we'll get to those another day. Today, you're going to see the Abbey."

A wrench was thrown into John's carefully laid plan, however, when they came upon a sign proclaiming the landmark closed for maintenance reasons. John felt the uncharacteristic urge to stomp his foot in irritation. He usually left such juvenile displays to either his lover or his best friend. Instead, he exerted some of that extra ordinary self-control he was so well-known for and simply turned to Jim with an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry, Jim. I dragged you all the way across town and they're not even open. We'll come back another time-"

"Nonsense, John!"

The brunette was already striding up the walkway towards the door of the church, completely disregarding the sign. John glanced around before hurrying after him.

"Jim! Jim, what are you doing?"

His voice came out as a hissed whisper, completely ridiculous given the time of day. Jim just waved behind him before trotting up the steps to the front door.

"Jim, we can't just break and enter a church! That's, like, doubly wrong!"

"It's not breaking and entering if the door's open. I'm just giving it a try. Don't worry, if we're caught we'll just pretend to be foreign and couldn't read the sign!"

"'Pretend to be forei-' Do you even listen to yourself sometimes?! Besides, it's a national landmark that's closed for maintenance. Do you really think they're just going to leave the door unlocked?"

He was silenced as Jim pulled the door open. The brunette turned to him with a cheeky grin.

"Apparently so. Now hurry up, we don't want to be seen, do we?"

Grumbling, John followed his lover inside. What in the world had he done to deserve this? Oh, yeah. Date Jim Moriarty.

Despite his reluctance for the situation, John still felt the same wonder he had the first time he'd been in the Abbey as a young boy. The ceilings were vaulted and the crypts stood around each wall. The entire place gave off a feel of being utterly timeless. He almost didn't notice Jim walking up behind him until the man spoke from his shoulder.

"It's beautiful."

Hands intertwined, the couple began to meander throughout the room.

"It feels so different here without all the different people milling about. Every time I've come, I spend most of my time trying not to run into people."

"That's the trouble with a lot of landmarks these days. They've become so commercialized that it takes away from how the place is supposed to feel. Oh! It's the shrine for Edward the Confessor! That means Henry III is buried nearby!" Jim pulled his doctor towards the gilded alter, chatting excitedly. "It was Henry III who rebuilt Westminster in honor of Saint Edward. He placed several of the royal saint's relics in this shrine, though his body is not actually here."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Up until the death of George II in 1760, most of our kings and queens were buried here. There are, of course, exceptions. Edward IV, Henry VIII and Charles I were all buried in Saint George's Chapel."

"Why do you know so many facts about this place if you've never been here?"

They were now standing before a carving of an angel and Jim looked up at it as he answered John's question. Still, John got the feeling that he wasn't really looking at the angel.

"After we die, the only thing that is left of us is what we did when we were alive. Those who did great things arose to power are remembered, while those who lived normal lives are not. For the longest time, all I ever wanted was to be remembered. It's why I started off to gain power like I have. I wanted the name James Moriarty to be known for generations."

"But being remembered by history isn't everything. It isn't the only thing with a memory. Those closest to you in life, the people who love and care about you, they have a memory too. Plus, I'm willing to bet that their memory is going to be a lot more accurate. After all, what do people really remember about all the greats throughout history? Names and dates. People don't know what they were really like, what their hobbies were, what they liked for breakfast. Those are what make you a person. Besides, there have been plenty of leaders lost to history, not just commoners."

He gave Jim's hand a squeeze and was pleased when Jim squeezed back. The brunette's gaze drifted off of the statue and down to meet his.

"John Watson, you are the most amazing person I have ever met. You make me want to change myself, and the best part is that I know you would never want me to change."

He leant forward to capture John's lips with his own. Pulling back, Jim looked at his deep in his eyes. John could feel his heart pounding in his chest. This moment felt…different somehow. Dear God, what was wrong with him today? Maybe he should buy that ring after all.

"John, will you-"

"Hey! What do you two think you're doing in here?!"

Both men's heads snapped to look at the entrance to the church, where an angry security guard was currently struggling through the gated access point. Hands clasped, they took off running towards a side door. John knew Lestrade would never let him live it down if he got arrested for breaking and entering Westminster Abbey. Behind them, they could hear the guard yelling after them to stop.

As soon as they were out the door, the guard smirked and pulled out a mobile. A quick press of the number 1 and the phone was soon ringing.

"Hello?"

"Oh, yah, Jezebel! Ze operation here vas a total success! Quickly! Ve must set ze next stage!"

"On it, Eyes. Excellent work."

Outside on the street, Jim and John were panting and trying to control their laughter. Jim raised his arm to hail a cab, ushering John into it quickly.

"C'mon. There's another church I want to show you."

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The church Jim dragged John to was old, like most churches in England. It was stonework and stained glass, but, unlike most churches, it looked as though it hadn't been kept up with well. The stone was worn away in places and the walkway up to the front had weeds sprouting up through the cracks. While all the windows appeared to be intact, vines reached up, threatening to cover them.

It, too, had a 'Keep Out' sign in front of it. This sign, however, gave John the impression that it had been put up as a more permanent notice. The entire thing was surrounded by a chain-link fence, but Jim just dragged John forward again.

"Come on, John! We've already broken into one church today, what's one more?"

"Two."

Either Jim didn't hear John's grumbled reply or he chose to ignore it. As the blonde watched his lover pick the lock on the fence, he was betting on the latter. Once the fence was open, Jim beckoned for him to enter.

As they started up the steps, John couldn't help but crane his neck to look up at the building. The stained glass really was beautiful.

"I discovered this place when I was a kid, on my first trip to London. I was here to…take care of something and just stumbled upon this place while wandering around." Jim didn't need to say it for John to know that the 'something' was Carl Powers. They'd had that discussion before and it wasn't something he wanted to revisit at the moment. "It spoke to me from the first moment I saw it. I just find something about this place so…calming."

They paused at the top of the stairs, before the impressive wooden doors and Jim lay one hand against them. His eyes softened and he looked at John with a smile.

"I think it was the stained glass. I've always loved that, you know? Each piece looks so fractured. They're just a jumble of colors and shapes, but they come together to make these gorgeous pictures. It's making beauty and order out of chaos. And no matter what the picture is of, it's always the most beautiful when the light is shining through it."

Jim pushed open the door and ushered him through. The sight that greeted him almost made him want to pinch himself, just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating or asleep.

The church was crowded with people, people John knew. His army buddies waved at him from beside several of the other doctors he worked with at the clinic, along with Mike Stamford and Molly. Mrs. Hudson beamed at him from the front pew, Lestrade beside her, and he was pretty sure he saw most of the Deadly Dozen there. Mycroft and the Duchess stood against one wall, suspiciously close. Even Harriet was there. He could see Graves standing at the front of the church, dressed like a minister. Moran stood to Graves's right, while Sherlock was bound and gagged on his left. Jezebel was standing just off to the side of the door in a floor-length dress, flower basket in one hand and a dry-cleaned suit in the other.

Flabbergasted, John turned back to look at Jim…only to find him down on one knee.

"John Watson, you are the light of my life. You make me a better person and, more than that, you make me want to be a better person. I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love someone and I would do anything for you. There is no one I would rather spend the rest of my life with. Will you do me the honor of being my husband?"

During his speech, Jim had pulled a small, black velvet box out of his jacket pocket and opened it, presenting it to John. The ring that sat nestled within was perhaps the most beautiful piece of jewelry John had ever seen. It was a simple silver band, but the stone set in the top glinted as if there were a fire inside the pearly white stone.

John tried to speak several times, his jaw working but no sound coming out. His mind just couldn't seem to wrap itself around what was happening. Jim, however, was starting to shift uncomfortably.

"I just, I thought it was about the right time in our relationship, and Jezebel has always wanted to be a flower girl. Plus, Graves is already an ordained minister, thanks to that debacle with the cat lady, so the pieces just seemed to all fall into place. I know, I know, I shouldn't have sprung a surprise wedding on you, but you know how I can get carried away. It just seemed like such a good idea at the time. I mean, I went ring shopping with Mrs. Hudson and then everything just started happening so fast. This way we didn't have to go through that strange limbo of being engaged, either. We could just skip straight to being married. The only snag I hit was that Sherlock didn't want to come. Apparently, weddings are 'boring.'"

Jim suddenly seemed to think he'd said something wrong there and immediately backtracked.

"Not that he doesn't support us, because he totally does! He gave me the stones to go in our rings! They're fire opals, very nice. Plus, he helped me come up with the idea of getting our finger prints engraved on the inside of each ring. Yours has my finger print and mine will have yours. I figured it was appropriate because you already have my heart so I might as well give you something else that no one else has. Oh, God, will you just say something? Please? Anything? Cause I'm down here on one knee and it would be really embarrassing for you to reject me now, what with the whole wedding set up and everything."

By this point, the consulting criminal was looking pretty stricken.

"Do you want to reject me? Cause I don't want to pressure you or anything and its totally fine if you do. I can wait. We don't have to get married now, or ever, if you don't want to. Wow, this is awful. I shouldn't have done this. I don't know what I was thinki-"

Jim was cut off by John grabbing him and yanking him into a kiss, pouring every ounce of love he had into it. By the time he pulled away, Jim looked dazed.

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"Of course I'll marry you."

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The wedding went well, or as well as one could expect with Jim and John. The set up was beautiful and the music was gorgeous. After stepping out to change into the suit Jezebel had ready for him, John quickly found himself on the alter with Jim. Speaking of Jezebel, she had turned out to be a very…enthusiastic flower girl. John almost felt sorry for her when his army buddies started shamelessly flirting with her at the reception, though it was fun to see how red she could get.

Francisco's son, Isaiah, was their ring bearer and seemed to take the job very seriously. His father was right, the kid was utterly adorable. Graves was an excellent minister, despite the fact that he spent the majority of the service looking rather bored. John did catch him smiling when they said 'I do,' though, so there was something to be said about that. Mrs. Hudson and Molly both cried, which wasn't all that surprising. More surprising was the fact that Mike cried, too, along with a woman John didn't recognize. (Jim later introduced her as the saleswoman who had helped him find the rings.)

Sherlock made it all the way through the service before finally managing to break free of his restraints. He made a run for it right after they kissed and ended up getting tackled by Moran in the aisle. Thrown over the mercenary's shoulder, he complained loudly that at least he had waited until the ceremony was over. And so, John started his new life as a married man laughing. Still, he was grateful that Sherlock had waited that long at least.

Those of the Deadly Dozen who hadn't been at the actual wedding did show up at the reception, including two whom he'd never met before. Scales and Techno, Jim's attorney and computer God respectively, were as odd as the rest. It wasn't until Eyes had shown up though, still in the security guard's uniform, that John figured out he was the same blonde man he'd met outside of Jim's apartment during the Note Trail.

John was also pleased to see that D had shown up with Alan, the man from the yogurt shop. The two had shown up for the reception, apparently because D had some sort of assignment or another and couldn't make it to the actual service. They were holding hands and laughing and John was feeling really good for them until he saw Francisco swoop in and steal a kiss from D. Jim just laughed and said, "Finally, Francisco's managed to bring Alan into the fold! They've been mooning after that man for ages!"

Moran wasn't much of a party person, but he remained occupied keeping Sherlock on premises. It seemed that the mercenary's intense fighting background was finally a match for Sherlock's street style of self-defense. Still, John was pretty sure they were both going to be sore come morning. Nothing was ever easy, was it?

Directly after the reception, the two men went by 221 Baker Street to grab their bags and were on an airplane less than six hours later. John couldn't believe their destination: Bora Bora.

…Their honeymoon lasted six days before Sherlock showed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! We made it to the end of this fic! How exciting! I want to thank everyone who read and commented. I'm glad you all enjoyed it! Also, There is a sequel to this fic that I also already have complete called Shared Custody. You'll notice that I have already labeled this as a series and will have the first chapter of SC up in a couple days.
> 
> Enjoy!


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